Live To Tell
by Without-Reason-Without-Rhyme
Summary: I couldn't tell... I just can't ok? Not my parents, not my sister, not even Santana. How can I speak about everything if I can't understand it myself? But the most important thing, is that I have something to say I just... I just need someone to listen to me. When I'm ready. When I can - when I can understand it all. Brittana AU.
1. I have a tale to tell

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters. **

**A/N: **Sorry about this guys, but it is necessary for me to start writing again!

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><p><span><strong>I have a tale to<strong>** tell...**

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><p>The water of the bath had turned lukewarm and I could feel my skin begin to cool. The silence of the room - vacant and empty- just made more space for my thoughts to fill it up. I flipped through the stages quite quickly, from denial all the way to self hatred and blame. I pressed my fingertips harshly against my eyes clearing away the few remaining tears I had. I shuddered and saw the movement ripple out across the water, away from me. I wished life was as easy as that, anything bad and you could force it away from you to be forgotten. To fade.<p>

I curled in on myself, the points where skin met skin was warm compared to my back – naked and cold to touch. I was trying to trap it all in. Everything.

A few more tears escaped as I had dared to uncoil myself and slick my hair back. I didn't want to leave the bathroom, it was the first time that day that I felt safe – unthinking maybe – but safe. It was an easy compromise to make.

I didn't need to glance around the room to know what it looked like. The walls had remained unchanged for my entire life, the purple light up duck sat haphazardly in the dish next to the soap. The walls were streaked white and yellow, the faucet dripped repetitively and the towels clung to the fractured rack in the vain hope they would dry somehow. It had never changed.

Unlike me.

But I have to acknowledge that there is a darkness in me. A darkness that had never existed before. A self loathing I never thought I was capable of.

Earlier that day I had sat across from her, staring blankly into eyes that I should've found comfort in. I can't remember the last time she smiled and I know it was my fault. Santana made me nervous in a way, my heart beat a little quicker and my palms were sweaty. There wasn't even a breath of a breeze on that cold dark winter's night, the moon – usually low and bright hid itself beneath a layer of clouds. Yet still we sat - me in a t-shirt and jeans, her wearing five layers and her beautiful face was streaked with tears. Somewhere in the distance I could hear voices, laughing, carefree.

I put those tears there because I couldn't... I can't. I can't say. I can't open my mouth and say what's on my mind.

I reached across, slowly, slowly, extending my thumb and ran it delicately over her cheek. That's what they do in movies, the ones we had watched together. I loved watching movies with her, curled up beneath her black, smooth sheets and holding each other as we watched those actors come to the rescue. Their pain was only temporary, and it always ended with some grand gesture. But the harsh reality is it doesn't happen that way. But those tears were all my own doing and it was so much easier to pretend that I didn't care.

She shrugged off my touch, twisting herself away from me and clamping her teeth down on her bottom lip. She shook her head as if she was talking, but she didn't. Neither one of us wanted to speak first. I wanted to smooth down the sharpness of her pain, I reached across once more – purely selfish reasons though. I wanted to soak in her warmth and hear her laugh again.

Santana began talking, blaming herself for something she has no right to blame herself for. But how was she to know? She's apologising and I don't why, she sobbed out a sorry like applying a band aid to our relationship. It was over. But Santana... she was clinging on to someone who didn't exist anymore.

"I'm sorry" I said, the words crisp, clear and final. She cried harder and I pinch at my thigh to stop myself from doing the same. I wanted so badly to be able to comfort her, but I couldn't. I was too emotionally stunted to know how to, so I sat there and continued to stare uncomprehendingly. I looked beyond her as if that was going to make it all the more bearable.

See it was moments like that that people assumed my lack of reaction was that I didn't understand what was going on. I did, I just didn't know what to say, what was appropriate... I didn't want her to see me as being weak. This is why I get called stupid a lot. Santana always stuck up for me, I never had to deal with things like this. She was my protector and I pushed her away. She seems to take offence to the word stupid more than I do, and she is always there with a quick retort, punchy and biting in her deliverance causing the most vulgar students at school to recoil from her words.

The way Santana would describe all of this is that she is the one who hurts me, takes me for granted and makes the wrong choices. But again that is just a projection. Those darkest of qualities reside in me, taking form and shaping me. These characteristics are moulding me and splitting me apart all at once.

I smiled thinly at her, and she halted her tears as if I was somehow a remedy to her sadness – rather than acknowledging that I was the cause. Her fingertips reached out to mine almost touching, barely there. But when she folded her hand around mine, trying to warm me, comfort me. But us breaking up then – that was my fault. I couldn't understand why she did it at the time.

I bowed my head, my stare rested upon our entwined fingers and I wanted to force the words back into my mouth. I wanted to take every flinch, every broken promise, every hurtful thing I had ever done and untwist it like thread. But those months I had been someone else and I couldn't keep doing that to her. I focussed back on our hands and watched as I splayed my fingers apart and pulled away.

Santana said once that the way I spoke was as if I thought I was above it all, I wasn't, not in my mind anyway. I was a realist, she was the dreamer. She was the one who dreamed of ways out of town, dreamed of being accepted, dreamed of true love. I scratched the word "dream" out of my vocabulary; it wasn't something I could connect to. It was too vapid, too hazy a thing for me to cling onto and just like that I let it go.

Santana didn't talk much more. But I knew she was trying to reconnect with me in any way she could. But I remember thinking at the time, if I'm her dream maybe it's time she let go of that word too.

I have a tale to tell...


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters. **

**A/N: **Thank you all for the great responses to the first chapter. I've been sitting on that for a month debating whether or not to post it up, I'm glad that I have done so! Your reviews mean the world to me, so thank you for taking the time. Now I've just got to deal with the pressure of maintaining the darkness of this ff.

Sincerely C x

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><p>"Let go" I whispered, the words felt familiar on my tongue, I had said them to her so many times in the past. Every time she refused I got a little kick of satisfaction, and then a nagging sensation of annoyance that she never heeded my hidden warning.<p>

I knew that she knew what I was really saying. _Let go of me_ is what I was really saying, but the ferocity that she is looking at me with right now, along with the tightening of her hand around mine - I could almost believe that she wanted me too.

She is tilting her head at me now, analysing me, trying to figure out what emotional state I'm in.

I look away because I hate it when she tries to read me, as if all the thoughts that I'm having are laid out bare, stripped down and waiting for her to just look at me and see it all. I look away because I don't want her to save me anymore.

I disentangle our fingers, but she tries to fight me. She clings on to every last digit, hoping that this time will be different than the last time. But it isn't. It never changes.

I pull away from her, enjoying this twisted mental torture. I crave her, but at the same time I'm rough with her, callous even. I hold her emotions in such little regard and every time she hurts or is disappointed it makes me feel better, then I berate myself for not functioning in an ordinary way, for not caring enough.

Instead I feed the darker side of me, to the point of it being gluttonous.

I swing my legs over the bench with ease; it's all part of the routine. I don't even have to turn back around to know that she has begun crying again. I smile a little with satisfaction, but then it falters and slides off of my face completely. I want to be normal for her, but how can I fight myself? I am who I am.

I hear footsteps behind me and I know she has begun to follow; I pick up the pace as does she. It's all so well rehearsed.

I begin a sprint and soon the accompanying sound fades. I owe her more than this, she deserves more than this.

I keep pushing her away, hoping that one day she will walk. But if she does walk, it will be the end of me and the last shred of sanity that I have left.

I hadn't always been like this. But certain things in life press down on you, squeezing the air from your lungs until you feel like your suffocating beneath the weight. I am always gasping for breath – and that's why I need Santana; in my darkest moments she gives me back air so I can rest for a little while and regain some composure.

That's why we were out here tonight. I had called her again.

I had had a breakdown again, I had looked into the mirror and not recognised my own face, my body felt like a shell that I was trapped in and it was surreal. I had held my hand up in front of my own eyes, tilting it and twisting it, examining every single line that graced my palm. It was all new, it wasn't real.

So I rang her hysterically talking about fake hands down the phone, in between garbled hysteria and uncontrollable sobs I managed to say the word park. Santana knew the routine well, the word park stood for a meeting within ten minutes of the phone call on the same picnic bench. She tried to get me to breathe, but each attempt caught in my throat, causing dry irritated coughs to breakout.

On my way walking to the park I watched my shadow become longer and darker, constantly at my heels with every move I made. My shadow reminded me of Santana and that thought alone irritated me.

She deserved more than that, but she never realised it. Everyone thought I was too good for her, and she had been told it so many times that she had started to believe it, despite the numerous occasions I told her it wasn't true; I was the lucky one to have her in my life. But she would always shake her head, finding comfort in staring at her feet as opposed to me.

I needed her in my life, but she didn't need me. All I ever brought to her was misery.

We talked about my shadow, about how I felt the light getting smaller, confined even and the darkness was growing, building, swallowing me whole.

That was when she began crying.

Now in her time of need I have left, what kind of person am I?

I want to go back, I order my feet to take me back to her and they start to. But then I change direction. It's like I have no control anymore over my own body. I'm pacing back and forth, wondering what to do.

Soft fingers belonging to a good soul stop me abruptly, the firm grip of her hands are holding my shoulders, stilling me and my conflict. She decided for me. She took that issue away.

"Britt, please, just tell me how to fix you." She was pleading with me again. She had begged so many times.

I shake my head unable to form coherent words. Moments like these are the worst for me, I'm so lost in my own mind that I can never reply back honestly.

"You can't fix me, because I'm not me." She looked uncomprehendingly. I knew if she gave me that look, that I was going to be lost the rest of the night.

"I'm scared San." Now this she could respond to better, but I didn't want her to.

As I physically drew her closer to me, mentally I pushed her further away, cementing the chaos firmly within the walls of my mind. I didn't want her to become corrupted too.

It was enough that I was a fuck up without her becoming that way inclined as well.

"You can talk to me" she whispers. "I'm always here for you Britt Britt." Her arms engulf me and I feel the warmth from her body heat my skin. Her words are like sandpaper, rubbing me raw, I feel sick.

"Don't be." I whisper back.

I feel her shift against me.

"Don't be here for me." As I say this I hold on even tighter, willing her to see beyond the contradiction. I'm wanting her to do something that I'm not capable of.

"I will always be with you forever" she speaks the words so softly. But to me it hurts and I change so quickly.

"Don't make promises that we both know you can't keep Santana." It's like acid in my mouth, vile and burning. I finally let go.

When I'm like this it makes her worry more. It makes her panic harder than she would if I was openly aggressive.

I know that she will call later, just to see and I won't answer because I want her to worry.

I want her to come over, snaking her way through the night and into my bed. But right now, I'm staring at her and she is staring back at me, she reaches out once more, but I'm already gone.

I'm already so far gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N: **Thank you for reviewing, but pretty please review again! It's what drives me to update and continue on with the ff. Just like to recommend other ff's though – **This Is For Real **by **Bazzer** and **What Boys Can't Provide** by **bobbieyoung. **Seriously like these two at the moment! Anyway, I look forward to your guy's opinions of this ff.

Sincerely C x

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><p>My hands grip the steering wheel tightly as I park up at school. The jocks are tossing the nerds into the dumpster; I can't find it in me to care about them. I just sit and stare preparing myself for a day of acting, making sure that my mask is firmly in place.<p>

I step out into the cool air; the sudden temperature drop is raising goose bumps across my flesh, as they become more prominent I run my index finger along my forearm just to feel it. No one will question my weird behaviour they just think its Brittany being Brittany.

"...I'm surprised she even knows how to drive a car." An errant Cheerio comments, I look up and see she is looking right at me, she is so self assured that she doesn't even turn away when I make eye contact with her. I'm trying to remember her name, Kelsey or Chelsea something like that, but she is so unmemorable that I can't seem to make the connection. I leave her sneering at my back as I walk towards Mckinley High.

The bell rings and I'm in the school building. I'm completely different here.

I'm no longer on the cheer squad but Santana is – she dreams of being the most popular girl at school. Instead, I work hard at maintaining this carefree exterior.

A wise person once said if I act happy then people will see me as happy, if I look at myself through their eyes then I can be happy. That's the method I employ here. I let people think I'm dumb, it allows me those moments of silence, those pieces of tranquillity that I can't find anywhere else.

I sense Santana walking in time with me, she never announces her presence with a word – I just know. We walk in time, my pace is kept slow and jovial now in comparison to the night before where I kept running and running until my legs felt like they could carry me no further.

I see out of the corner of my eye Santana getting bumped hard by some jock's shoulder. I don't say a word; I continue to smile as if oblivious to my surroundings and the sadistic nature of those who occupy these halls.

But Santana has plenty to say. She shouts and screams - her temper flaring, he's ruining her dream, fracturing and breaking this perfect picture that she's created in her mind. He brought her back to reality and there is always a price to pay for that.

I look on as she continues her rampage, tearing verbal lumps from him. I reinforce every word she's saying with a furrow of my brow letting them know they have destroyed my peace already and it's only been ten minutes since I set foot on the school grounds.

He turns to high five one of his friends, Santana turns to me defeated seeking some comfort. I take this cue to reassure her.

"He's a jerk" I tell her, I don't recognise this voice as belonging to me, it sounds strange to hear such honest words fall from my lips but I don't feel it at all. Words are meaningless.

I think Santana likes me better at school. At school I am her ideal version of Brittany, this is the "me" that she wants and I give it to her in abundance, she soaks it all up. She has asked me so many times why I can't be happy like this all the time. I thought she could see through and realise that even beneath the surface that darkness is still lurking, but she pretends not to see it and I pretend that it's not there.

It's as if it's some kind of carefully crafted game, handled deftly by both players.

I'm not sure if I want her to know that this isn't me, I don't want to shatter her dreams too.

Santana holds out her pinkie expectantly, I reciprocate quickly and this satisfies her. I don't feel any fire or security. It's just bone and muscle and flesh gripping tightly onto another. It's just simple contact, but I think she gets more from it than me.

An argyle sweater and white tights alert me to Rachel's sudden appearance in front of us. Santana doesn't even hesitate to begin hurling insults at her.

"Stop it" I whisper, the smile sliding from my face. She turns to look at me incredulously as I'm interrupting her habitually mean disposition.

Rachel is looking at me with something akin to awe. I don't like it, I feel as if I've been put beneath a magnifying glass, I'm being analysed by both girls now. Santana's face is unreadable, just like mine. I know she's confused as I don't respond anymore, or at least respond with any kind of emotion.

Santana is always asking me why I'm so detached. Why did I change? Why won't I talk to her like before? I give the same answer every time – I don't know.

"...so in conclusion we are meeting in the auditorium today after school and no miming this time. My vocal chords can't take the strain of carrying you all anymore." Santana snorted in derision at Rachel, clearly hoping that that would be enough to make her leave.

I just wanted to be alone right now. Sometimes it is as if she is babysitting me, watching me for any warning signs. I can't stand it. It makes me want to scream at her.

Last night, after the running and the phone calls and then more running, I waited for her to arrive at my window and climb into bed with me. For the first time in our friendship she hasn't come back to me and done as I expected her to. I know that I'm losing her because I'm pushing her away on purpose.

I'm slightly resentful of who she is, how she can be strong yet weak, sweet but vicious. She is my very own walking contradiction, my enigma. I'm a nonentity in comparison and the feeling makes my heart soar for her yet hurt painfully.

I don't know where I'm going. Or what I'm going to be doing. My pulse remains steady as Santana brushes the hair from my face. She's concerned, her eyes are asking me so.

I pull away from her touch not because I couldn't control overwhelming waves of passion and lust. I pulled away because she was being too familiar, and her actions were akin to that of a mother's.

I push her hand away.

I don't want her to touch me now. I wanted her to be there in my bed last night. I didn't want her to be affectionate to me, here in the hallway out in the open so everyone can see. If I'm honest I'm quite surprised by her actions, considering she has neither confirmed nor denied her sexuality to the masses that comprises of the student body.

"Brittany have you forgotten how to leave again?" Rachel said in that exasperated tone. I waited for Santana's retort, but she didn't bite, instead she was looking away from me her shoulders dipping low as if she was caving in.

"Something like that" I say, I don't really acknowledge either girl with a goodbye, I just walk quickly on.

I am just about to walk through the door and into my history class, until I feel fingers tug at me gently. She's come for me and with a firmer grasp pulls me away, until the watching eyes of each student and the prejudice comments seep into the distance.

Cool metal is pressing down the length of my back, Santana's hands are pinning me down making sure that I can't go anywhere. She is so close to me, and I want this, but I don't want it – do I? I'm panicking, I don't know what decision to make.

"I can make you smile again." Her voice is barely a whisper, the words slide warningly against my ear, it's seductive and I almost forget for a moment.

"Let me go." There are those words again; I feel the previous determination that emanated from her wavering. She pulls back, and I didn't realise she had gotten so close to kissing me. She pulls back and I see tears in her eyes.

"Don't cry." I command it, my mouth feels cold as I speak the words aloud, and there isn't an ounce of caring in them. She leans forward again and I tense, she presses her lips to my cheek softly and I almost feel it, a twinge of some sort – a twinge of compassion now resides in my chest.

She backs out quickly, trying desperately to stem the tears, threatening to roll down her cheeks.

I want her to hurt the way I do, in a way I blame her, I blame her for who I am now. I slide myself down the metal door, finally realising that I'm in the girl's restroom. I put my head in my hands and cry, it's the first time I have allowed myself to pity her, to pity me too.

Everything is so hard, so angular and if I could label myself that is exactly how I would represent my inner mind right now. I'm trying hard to stop myself from remembering, but I can't, it rewinds back to that exact moment I became like this.

I start gasping, the fear having such a good hold around my throat as if it's choking me. I try and breathe but it won't let me, my lungs are aching and my chest hurts. I slow down again, my shallow breaths become deeper, more controlled. I place my palms flat on the tiling and push myself up.

Quinn's gaze is wary and I didn't even notice her standing there. I force out a smile and think quickly of something inane and Brittany-esque that would satisfy her open curiosity.

I gesture wildly at the floor.

"I just found out Santa isn't real." This seems to appease her as she strides over she starts to hug me, but I stand still, not even moving to engulf her in a hug back. All I want to do is leave. She lets go and rubs my arm reassuringly.

"You still get presents though!" She exclaims half-heartedly. I nod furiously in response, not trusting my voice to continue this facade. When I realise no more is going to be said I leave quickly, I almost turn around and walk back in when I see Santana laughing with Puck, her fingers travelling repetitively up and down his bicep.

I feel sick, a strong nausea that makes me want to run. But I don't, I continue to stand and watch from afar as my world breaks.

I watch and feel so many emotions all at once it shocks me – I haven't felt this much and this confused since the night I changed.

I feel tears and it surprises me. She looks up and smiles slightly, Puck's head swivels round and following her gaze finds me on the receiving end of it. His stare is so concentrated and piercing that it makes me ill and bare.

I wrap my arms around myself as if I was naked, keeping some semblance of modesty. I bow my head and walk away. But I can still feel him on me, that look that made me so uneasy.

A single tear falls. They all see through me.

They all see it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N: **Thank you for reviewing, you guys have 100% spoilt me. As always please leave me a review – after getting 5 reviews for the last chapter it spurred me on to write this one. Imagine what more than 6 reviews will get you guys? A longer chapter in a quicker time frame maybe? :)

**WARNING**: IF EVEN THE BRIEFEST MENTIONS OF SELF HARM MAKE YOU UNEASY THEN PLEASE SKIP THIS CHAPTER! I only mention it for about 3 or 4 lines so just be wary. There's a reason this ff is rated M. It will be earning that rating in later chapters.

Sincerely C x

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><p>Mr Schuester drones on at the front, my foot tapping anxiously against the leg of the desk. I'm not listening, instead I'm allowing a series of images to run free, they are blurring and mixing together.<p>

I have come to a conclusion that I am a parody of myself.

I am a joke, a stereotype projected to stop people from searching a little deeper, to stop them from looking a little more closely at me. The large classroom windows invite light in and keep the darkness at bay, it almost feels like summer again, but it's not and as if to remind me, I feel a chill that causes me to shiver.

I feel erratic and on edge, my foot taps a little louder and people start to turn around to glare at me. My foot halts in time for Mr Schue to set our assignments; he doesn't even acknowledge my presence.

I pack my things away swiftly, wanting to get out quickly.

It seems that lately all I ever seem to do is run away from something, or think about getting away. I feel sick as I see him again. Puck standing at another girl's locker, another brunette who is a cheap imitation of Santana stroking his bicep in much the same way.

I feel sick because he treats all girls as if they are nothing. They are to be picked up and used whenever he wishes – the surge of anger is welcoming and I let it spew out of me with the way I charge through the corridors, bumping shoulders and bodies along the way.

Kurt's voice surprises me, so I stop and try my best to focus on the words he is speaking.

I feel my mouth moving with a response, but I easily grow frustrated and begin to grit my teeth, my lips feel foreign to me as they move to shape and form a coherent sentence. He seems to understand what I am saying so I continue on, my mouth stretching wide at points and I know I should be feeling all of this. But the moment is plastic, manufactured to adhere to social norms and typical social cues. He nods once.

"Britt - are you ok?" Those words do register with me and I'm quick to deflect any sort of prying. I smile so hard that it begins to hurt and nod furiously. Satisfied, he links our arms together and walks me to the choir room, and we are the last ones in.

I settle in between Kurt and Blaine, as the only seat next to Santana is occupied by Puck, I look over at them and feel sick as he turns around to smile smugly at me. He drapes his arm over the back of her chair pointedly; however, Santana fixates on his arm then on the back of his head. A gentle slap to his side alerts him to her and he retracts his arm swiftly.

It doesn't make me feel much better.

But this was what I wanted right? For her to distance herself from me - she could pick anyone at all - just not him. Quinn is reflecting my longing and loathing but directing it towards Finn and Rachel who are sitting so closely she may as well be sitting on his lap.

Quinn's hand shoots up into the air.

"Yes Quinn? Do you have something for this week's assignment?"

"Actually I do," she replies. She gets up and strides confidently over to Brad. "As we rehearsed" she mutters to him.

Rachel interjects some question about the song and Quinn is evidently annoyed.

"Breathe Me is a song about security and safety. Or at least seeking it out." She says the word meaningfully, as if conveying that she is singing it to Finn. I close my eyes as I really don't want to be here for this.

The words being sung delicately by her reflect all of my thoughts; it's as if it were a monologue for my inner self. I indulge myself a little further by making eye contact with Santana; she is no longer transfixed by Quinn and her tears but instead is anticipating some kind of dramatic reaction from me. I bob my head slightly and force a slight smile to tug the corners of my mouth.

The rest of the time passes me by in a blur, a hazy confusion that I've grown accustomed to.

I don't remember the drive home and I drown out the desperate pleas from my mother to spend some time with her in the kitchen. I reach the sanctuary of my room, throwing my bag down with more force than necessary. I slump onto the bed, lying face down in my pillow, when the lack of oxygen gets too much I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling seeing the silver stars that I had painted.

Seeing the stars help me gain some perspective on my life. That whatever I'm going through, someone else in some other part of the world is probably doing the same as me right now, staring upwards and asking the silence why. Why me? Why now?

I shift onto my side, and curl my knees in towards my chest, wrapping the sheets around me. My bedside drawer catches my eye and I know exactly what resides in that draw – well the only thing that I keep in there. My fingers reach out and across, hesitating only briefly before I pull it open and fish out the leather bound book. The impressions on the front, beautiful swirling patterns looking as though the sun is set into a bigger sun and so on until it ebbs out to the edge of the front cover. They aren't as clear as they used to be and I feel guilty for not taking better care of it.

This is the book I write in whenever I feel angry or upset. My fingers settle onto the second page in, my eyes scanning it before I relive the moment when I wrote it.

The title page reads as such,

_This book is not to be used as a space to contain vacuous hopes and dreams. There is no room left in my life for things like that._

_This book will be recording my pain, frustrations and sorrow. It isn't a place for poetry. It's a place to document every time that I feel on the brink. Right now I feel on the edge of doing something stupid and reckless ..._

I hesitate before I flick the page over, knowing what is coming.

_Tuesday, 23__rd__ August 2011._

_Tonight I feel abandoned._

_I feel abandoned by my family, my friends, my loved one and quite importantly my own mind. I slipped out of my house under the cover of night at precisely 8:46pm it's 9:55pm now and I've spent this time trying to locate a friend – just anyone to listen to me. But there's no one there. I realised with a startling clarity that they all have lives – each of them have their someone but right now, I don't have her._

_Right now this book is my someone. Whilst driving I wondered how they would feel should I suddenly die. I envisioned myself crashing my car and myself lying bloodied and broken nearby._

_I thought about buying a knife, sharp and enticing and taking it to my wrists. Maybe I could scar myself with a flame. I get like this when I'm alone, my mind turns against me and I want to hurt myself to reflect what I feel inside._

_At this moment I'm thinking about showing her this book just to sting her. I want to hurt those I love the most. I just received a text from Quinn asking me if I'm ok. I texted back with a thinly veiled answer containing hurt and sorrow. I can't deny that my heart leaped a bit with hope. That's the problem though. I hope too much, I venture forward just to be pushed back roughly and rejected again. I don't think I can take another rejection._

_I fantasize that if I were somewhere else or someone else I'd be happy. I wouldn't be rejected anymore and I could lead an ordinary life._

_I hoped that if I do slip up there would be someone there for me. I'm craving human contact, but when I do get it, I push them away. The thing is I fluctuate, I'm confused and I know why. I change so often that I don't know who I am; I'm either a very good actress or people don't look closely enough- I think it's the latter. They would prefer to put their own gloss onto me, and should they ask me a question I know they don't want a real answer, they want me to be their perception._

_I'm starting to feel an uncomfortable pressure in my throat, maybe it's because I'm trying to stop myself from crying. I'm annoyed at myself, when she starts to dig deeply I deflect with humour or a command._

_But secretly I want her to draw it out of me – piece by piece. I want her to fight me to find out what is wrong, but she doesn't seem willing to try. I tap everyone in one direction away from me and they fall so easily like dominoes._

_They all want so badly to believe that I'm ok so that we don't have to deal with anything. My integrity as a human being is so severely diminished I wonder if I have anything left in me to give._

_I nod and speak just to conform and ease people's consciences. I want to be at peace right now – I just need help. But I think I'm over estimating the human race, maybe they aren't all psychics of pain like I am. Maybe I can see it subtly and clearly in others because it is so evidently marked in me._

_Maybe I'm asking too much._

My hands are shaking as I place it face down. The other entries are much along the same lines and I feel panic rising up. Months had passed and yet I still felt this way. My mind was heading back into a dark direction, but right now I somehow still felt numb.

When I feel numb I press the sharp tip of a compass into my flesh and drag it up and down, leaving my skin raw and pink. The one time Santana had caught me made her panic, which had resulted in tears and her blaming herself for it, but I let her. I had to keep reassuring her I wasn't doing it to kill myself, that I was just doing it to confirm that I was still capable of feeling something. She had made me promise not to do it again and I was definitely going to stick to that promise.

I just didn't know what to do with myself. So I'm doing the only thing I can think of. I pick up a pen and grab the book back up. I scribble in the date hastily, not wanting to be caught with this.

Just as I press the nib to the page a loud knock sounds out from my door. I slip it underneath my pillow and sit cross legged, staring expectantly at the door waiting to bestow a torrent of abuse upon the intruder who deprived me of my outlet.

As soon as I see the tan fingers envelop the edge of the door pushing it open I bite my tongue. I don't want to give her more of a reason to run into the arms of Puck.

She emerges and she must pick up on my suspect behaviour because her eyes immediately flicker down to look at my wrists momentarily. Evidently satisfied that I hadn't hurt myself she comes into the room fully, closing the door with a loud bang.

"Hey" she whispers, her voice is slow, low and oddly bittersweet. It's the first time I've seen her unsure, especially stepping into my room.

"Hey" I reply back matching her tone measure for measure.

She walks over cautiously, afraid that she might startle me and then I would run, but I won't; not now anyway – I'm safe here.

She begins to fiddle with ornaments on the shelf, picking them up and examining them closely, she seems to forget that I know this is a sign that she wants to talk about something heavy.

"So what's up?" I try and make myself sound light hearted and upbeat. Her eyes narrow and she places the china duck down exaggeratingly slowly.

"Do you really need to ask that question Britt? What was with you today? Especially with man-hands, I mean what was that all about?" She sits down on my bed, crossing her legs and bestowing a dark look at me.

"I really don't know what you're talking about Santana." She flinches visibly at the use of her full name.

"Well, do you like her?" The question is so absurd that I start to laugh, the first real laugh in a long time.

"Don't laugh at me." She says angrily, smacking her hand down into the mattress. It only succeeds in making me laugh harder.

"Confirm or deny it, just, please don't string me along like this. I need to know."

"No I don't like her. There all better now?" I know she hates it when I start to sound condescending but I can't help it, especially after she had been visibly flirting with Puck all day.

"Then why stick up for her?" It's a good question, one that I ponder on for a moment.

"I just think girls should stick together, being mean to each other just helps boys in being mean to us too. That's not okay and I don't want to be that way anymore." She tries to hold my hand, but I shift just beyond her reach.

"Ok, so I'll try and stop. I love you – you know that right?" I know the words are hard to say for her, but I disbelieve the sincerity behind them.

"But you shouldn't love me. I'm damaged Santana and I don't want to bring you down with me."

She looks as if she's about to argue so I carry on speaking.

"Anyway, what was with you and Puck today? Don't try to deny it either because I saw you flirting." She turns red and she can't look me straight in the eye.

"He's been paying attention to me, so I've been giving him attention back – is that a crime?" She's turning defensive and I know I've hit a sensitive spot.

"Yes-" I say softly. "It is." I can see the rage bubbling up but I carry on. "Especially with him. Just, promise this one thing for me – anyone but him. That's all I ask."

Wordlessly she moves briskly to my bedroom door. She pauses and turns her head slightly.

"I used to know who you were," she says dejectedly, "but now I have no idea who you are at all. Puck is nothing to me and you should know that. I wish I had never come here." With those words still flowing softly through the air she closes the door, leaving me in the darkness.

In the silence of the room I speak my fears aloud.

"I know you so much better than you think San. I know something is going on."

I hesitate wondering if this is sane, but then again I've never really been an advocate for conventional.

"San I should tell you something. It's something you need to know. But I'm scared. I'm so scared that this will change everything."

I bite my lip and close my eyes, squeezing out the tears that I thought had long since dried out.

"San, please come back and listen. I'm sorry, I need you. I need you to listen to all the things I can't say. Find your way back to me San; I can be your Brittany again. We just need to make this better. Please make me better."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N: **Thank you for reviewing again! Loving your guys enthusiasm for this ff. My writing being likened to crack is honestly the highest compliment that I have received. The fact that some of you have said that you can connect to some of the moments that I have written about here is truly touching. A little confession to be made – the whole thing about writing in a book and the excerpt that Brittany had written out? I actually wrote that when I was 17 in my very own "book of anger" and I keep it so that every now and again I can read a little bit and remember how far I have come from being that angry teenager. Onto another issue – my updating has been erratic lately that is because after this chapter it's going to be tough to stick to a regular update – say every Saturday, this is due to university work. But I do promise this ff will be finished.

Phew, now that's over let's get onto the story itself. Please review because it makes me all kinds of warm and fuzzy :) .

Sincerely C x

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><p>Its midnight and I can't sleep. My thumb keeps hovering over the pad of my phone. I have already typed out a text, but now I don't know if I should send it.<p>

I wanted her to text me, I want her to sacrifice her dignity for me and I'm so twisted, bitter even – she deserves more than me. But my selfishness wants to keep her by my side.

I give in and click send.

'_Fight for me.' _That's all I text her. The reply is almost immediate.

'_I can't fight something that isn't there. It's all in your mind.' _The text was short and unusual for Santana. The kisses on the end of the texts had halted a few months ago; it was as if any kind of affection had been sucked clean from our relationship.

Something clicked in my mind and all of a sudden it made sense.

'_Puck is there with you right now isn't he?' _The lack of response is her acknowledgement that he is there. The fear slides its way down my spine, cold and unpleasant.

'_Where are you?' _I send again, I don't like it. I wait for a few minutes and I still don't receive a reply. He has ensnared her and right now my breaths are coming in short bursts. I hurl my phone at the wall a loud cracking sound just confirms that my anger has taken a hold. I feel the pressure in my muscles and joints, I ache for destruction.

I pace around the room finding anything that Santana gave to me. I open the window and throw the china duck through it a soft thud indicating that it is now embedded into the ground. I only feel a fleeting relief, but the pressure is back, this time more intense and more demanding. My knuckles turn white as I grip the plush toy duck, the rage makes me strong enough to tear its head off and throw it vengefully out of the window. I stalk around the room throwing anything and everything that I can lay my hands on.

The tears start to fall and I use my sleeve to get rid of them. My hands are shaking and I can feel my face contorting in fury. Gift after gift goes outside and when I'm done I see a patchwork of things all over the grassy lawn of my house. It's as if I've thrown the past directly out of my room and into the dirt.

I retrieve my phone, the screen is cracked but it is still functioning.

'_Stuff is outside my house. Pick up whenever you're ready.'_ I wait and wait, but she still doesn't text me back. My phone ends up making another dent in my wall, I've thrown it yet again and still I can't get any satisfaction. I heave myself back onto the bed and close my eyes, allowing the tears to streak silently down my face. I wasn't prepared for this sudden explosion of emotion. I'm so tired of it, for two days feeling nothing and then one day of relief where it all comes pouring out. I don't know how much longer I can live like this.

A timid knock comes from my door and for the briefest moment I imagine its Santana, coming here to apologise, to grovel to me. But then I realise who it is.

"Before you ask mom I'm fine." I don't even sound fine. My throat has started closing up as I try desperately to push all of my feelings back down into the pit of my stomach.

"Bri, you don't sound fine – is everything ok in there?" I want to hit her with all of my truths and see if she finds them equally as overwhelming as I do.

"I told you I'm fine." I hope it's enough to send her back into her own bedroom. That hope is dashed when I see the door open a fraction allowing a dim light to pour into the darkness.

"Is it ok if I come in?" But she's not looking for an invitation. Not really anyway. She is fulfilling her familial duty to me at this late hour. But really I want to be left alone to seethe with my anger until it burns out completely.

"Well you're already halfway in so you might as well." I don't bother to sit up; instead I stretch myself out and make myself as comfortable as possible.

She makes her way in and sits tentatively on the edge of the bed, half turned towards me. An uneasy silence falls across the room and I know she's waiting for me to start the conversation. I lie there and stare up into the darkness, wishing right now that I could see those painted stars and feel ok again.

"You're angry" she states matter-of-factly. It's so simple and I want to be frustrated with the slow way she says it, but I can't muster up the energy.

"Yeah." There's another awkward pause, all I can hear is the gentle breathing coming from my mom.

"So why are you so angry?" She turns to face me completely now, I can see her outline shifting towards me.

"Santana." I don't want to say anymore, I want her to leave me to recapture the numbness at my own pace. She lets out a sigh, she knows that she isn't going to get an outpouring tonight.

"Well, I'm sure you two will figure it out." She looks around as if she can see in the dark. "Were you throwing things?"

"Yes" I exaggerate the s, hissing like a snake, it's a warning that she is entering dangerous territory.

"I'm sure in the morning it will all be ok. Bri, just know that I'm your mom, you can talk to me about how you feel. Being emotional doesn't make you weak it makes you human." I can't tell if I'm angry or relieved at what my mom just said and I don't have a chance to decide.

She pulls me upright into a hug, holding on tightly as if she is holding me together.

"You will always be my little girl Bri, always." I let out a few tears, mainly caused by pent up frustration at my predicament. She starts to rock me back and forth and I do feel like her little girl again and it's strangely soothing and for the first time in awhile I feel safe. I realise in that moment that my mom does know best. She knows that I don't want her there, but recognises that I need her there instead. She starts to stroke my hair, shushing me as my tears start to fall freely. I feel shame, because I do feel weak. I should know how to be strong by now and not let little things affect me. But they do and I cry harder.

After awhile she stops and pulls away.

"Want to talk about it?" I can hear the anticipation in her voice.

"No." I hear her sigh, her fingers tangling through my hair, working out some of the knots that had formed.

"Well, you know where I am if you need me." The bed moves as she gets up, her outline becomes more prominent set against the light from the hallway.

"Mom?" She turns back to face me.

"Thanks." I can almost see her slight smile glowing through the blackness of my room. She nods slightly. Wordlessly she closes the door back up.

I shut my eyes, waiting for sleep to take me. I know that when I dream tonight it will drag me back into unwanted memories and my darkest of secrets. My unconscious will replay those moments again and again working through my repressed thoughts that I close off during the waking hours.

Tonight, I will be at the mercy of my own mind and that thought alone makes me scared to sleep.

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><p>I wake up, a cold sweat dampens my pillow, and my duvet is pulled up high over my head. It's as if it's suffocating me, trapping me in this layer, keeping me here against my will. I push it down and take in a deep lungful of fresh air; I'm trying to calm myself. It's still dark, and the numbers on my clock shine in red telling me its 3:17 a.m. I don't want to go back to sleep, but already I feel my eyes drooping. I remember my phone lying neglected on the floor, so I get out of bed and fumble around trying to find it.<p>

Eventually my fingers find the cool, hard plastic and I press the buttons. There are no text messages and I feel the pain return. I turn it off so that I no longer torture myself with constantly checking it.

I decide to look outside and I find the lawn is clear, for a moment I wonder if it all had been a part of an elaborate dream. If it was real however, who cleared it up? My mom or Santana? I'm impatient and I want answers now, but even so I'm not willing to interrupt my mom's slumber, I had already deprived her of sleep once tonight - I refuse to do it again.

Instead, I wile away hours just sitting by my window, my bed sheets are now completely cold to touch without my body to keep them warm. I check the time repeatedly, waiting for the sun to rise and guessing the precise time that it will make its appearance.

It is at 7:21 a.m. when the first hint of orange warms the sky and drives away the isolation of night. Everything is so much better in the brightness of day. I go about my morning routine, but this time I'm early enough to join my parents for breakfast.

My father doesn't speak much, but he radiates calmness. It's my mom who has a penchant for talking; he on the other hand listens and never judges you or dismisses you. I feel closer to him because of it somehow.

Last night's events don't get brought up and instead a particular focus is given to positivity. My mom gushes over the lovely winter weather we are having and how fresh our clothes smell and how our elderly neighbour is visiting her grandchildren today. It's all idle talk, designed to draw the attention away from the bad things and distract and repress everything that is going on with me. I admire and despise it all at once.

But I can't blame her. She doesn't know what to do with me, and my father the ever quiet, non-judgemental man that he is doesn't know either. He punctuates her monologue with the occasional eyebrow raise or grunt to show he's listening, and I sit there watching part of my family function as a unit.

Stephanie won't be awake for another four hours yet – she has taken a 'gap year' to go 'travelling,' although she has yet to make any actual plans, and five months of her year have already come and gone. She spends the majority of her time sleeping, and when she isn't sleeping she is watching tv, eating or disappearing out of the door to go out partying with her friends.

I very rarely get to spend time with her now; she may as well be a stranger taking up residency as opposed to my sister. It makes me a little sad at how far apart we have become.

I continue to eat my lucky charms and sip my orange juice. My father clears his throat – an indication that he has something important to say. My mom's toast hangs in midair just like my spoonful of cereal. Now is not the time for interruptions.

"Bri-" I look at him questioningly as he never speaks to me directly. "-what trouble are you having with Santana?" I freeze and shoot my mom a look but she doesn't catch it. She's suddenly enamoured with the butter melting on her toast.

"No trouble at all. Just some stupid stuff, but it will get sorted today." He looks me directly in the eyes and it unnerves me. Seemingly satisfied with my response he continues to slice into his pancakes. I feel relief as we all resume eating, but my mom no longer fills the silence with her awkward rambling.

I don't want to eat anymore; I have suddenly lost my appetite. For a fleeting moment I wanted to tell them the other reason why I'm like this - it's not just because of Santana. But I lost the courage as quickly as it had arrived. I drop the bowl into the sink and leave before my parents decide to ask me any further questions. I grab my bag from the foyer and slide on my trainers. I shout a quick goodbye and head outside.

But she is there, propped up against the side of my car her head hung low.

"Get off of my car." The ferocity with which I say my words surprises even me.

"Not until we talk." She says evenly, right now I'm quelling the urge to slap her; I fold my arms across my chest to stop myself.

"I wasn't with Puck last night." I snort with derision; I couldn't believe she was lying to my face. "I wasn't" she protests a little more strongly now.

"I was by myself in the park, I just wanted to be alone for awhile, get my head straight." A part of me still distrusts what she is saying, but I let her carry on.

"Are you aware of how hard it's been lately? You make everything so difficult, its hard work being your friend let alone your girlfriend. One moment you're fine, then you won't talk and then you get angry and lash out. You won't even tell me what's bothering you. Do you even trust me?"

There was the golden question and I answer in earnest.

"No" I say barely above a whisper. "I don't trust you anymore."

Her face falls slightly. "So what are we doing then? Why are you still in this if you don't trust me?"

"I don't know, I just know I want you here." I was bewildered by my own comment but she seemed to understand.

"Is this all because of the argument that night?" I'm bewildered by her comment and she sees that.

"You know the night when you changed? We argued because I kissed that other girl?" Suddenly the memory comes back to me. I had almost forgotten about it, I feel a slight pinch of anger.

"This whole thing right now Santana? Definitely not because of that, trust me." She narrows her eyes at me.

"Then what is it about? Please just let me in Britt." I ignore her request, I reach for the car door but her hand covers the handle.

"I'm going to be late to school Santana, just let me go!" I yell at her in frustration, but she doesn't even flinch. She's staring at me stony faced, expressionless and unrelenting. This is the most resilient I have seen her be for a long time.

"I'm waiting" she says, almost daring me silently to make another attempt for the car door. I feel the secret on the tip of my tongue, it's burning for its release but I swallow it back down.

"I can't, I'm sorry but I can't." At that moment the front door of my house closes with a click and Santana steps away from my car hesitantly.

"Morning Mr. P" she says brightly.

"Good morning San." He replies and for once I resent him not taking my side completely and telling her to never show her face here again. I slide into my car and I can feel my heart beating faster and faster – it's as if someone has frightened me. I watch as she gets into her own car giving me one longing look and she speeds off into the distance.

The words that I've been wanting to say for months now are a heavy weight in my mouth, anchoring me to this point of perpetual angst. I was stuck in a state of verbal limbo.

I rest my head on the steering wheel and begin to recite what I want to say. "San I -" but the words catch in my throat. "San I need to- to tell you something. I need to, erm, to tell you why I'm like this." But I couldn't finish without hesitating.

I was so frustrated with myself, but I was afraid. I was afraid of losing everything, but now I realise it's happening anyway.

She is starting to leave me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: Ok so I actually had this chapter written out awhile ago. I was going to surprise you folks with it Saturday but I'm out the entire day and night and I couldn't wait so here we go. **Brittanaislove** got me thinking with her review, and all I'll say is this – people very rarely do what you want them to do, my own personal experiences with my friends has taught me that. They may know what is right and what they should do but ultimately they do what they want.

I have two songs in mind for this chapter : **Move **by **Sol Seppy **and **Courage **by **Sarah Polley **(well I like her version anyway)

Oh yeah and here's a recommendation coming at ya : **Mischances, Stances and Stolen Glances **by **ellisbell85**. It's fantastic I suggest you read it.

Please leave a review! Sincerely C x

P.s I just saw a clip from next weeks episode with Damian McGinty's character Rory in it talking to Finn about how he wants to get into Brittany's "pot of gold" wtf?

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><p>School was a hazy blur, a concoction of half made promises, acidic insults and being bound by this feeling of jealousy in my chest. No face stood out to me today, with the exception of Santana.<p>

She has always been my exception.

All of the words of the day evaporated seamlessly into the ether, they didn't stick with me. But the memory that sticks in my psyche was the whispered conversation between her and Puck. Her thanking him for last night; and that only confirmed my fear that she had lied to me.

Did she lie to protect me? I don't know. All I do know is that it set into motion my pain, it felt as if she was directly rubbing salt and lemon into the very essence of my being. My heart doesn't ache, I don't believe in things like that. It's just a physical pain, the kind that can't be replicated by pushing yourself to the limit.

Which brings me to right now.

I didn't even notice that it had started to rain; I was so fixated on the scene playing out before me.

I wanted to see her, to finally confess everything that she wanted to know, but he stopped me.

I rounded the corner to see his car pulling up outside, so I slipped into the shadows my jacket pulled closely to me. I felt sick as I saw him, getting out and pulling what looked like wine coolers along with him.

I couldn't look away as he strolled up the path to her front door, his confidence oozed from him with every step he took. I close my eyes for a moment wanting to leech the images from my mind. The memory of her lying to me, the memory of him smiling over his shoulder at me in the choir room, I just wanted to rid myself of the knowledge. Sometimes being ignorant is for the best, but I don't have that luxury.

I saw the way she opened the door and her face lit up, the eagerness marking her features, twisting her in a way that used to be held just for me. His own features slick and controlled, his mouth raised in half a smile baring an incisor. He looked predatory.

It was a tragedy, my own personal tragedy. I had lost the one person I thought I could never lose and now I'm suffering for my crimes. It was a weird kind of karma.

A trauma for my soul.

So I'm standing here, feeling the rain slide its way down my back, like icy fingertips clawing at my spine. I don't care that I'm soaked through; I don't care how I look right now. My clothes are sticking to me in unpleasant ways, weighing me down like lead. I want to walk away and slither back into the night without a trace.

But instead I have somehow moved closer to her house, hovering in the shadows like some sinister spectre.

I watch expressionless as their silhouettes move by her bedroom window. The square of light is draining away the details of their bodies, just leaving their outlines. Eventually the golden glow of her lamp goes out and with it my hope of ever telling her is extinguished.

But I still can't leave. I don't want to leave her alone with him, so I walk a little closer to her house and sit down on the ground - I wait.

I roll stones out into the street, some of them with a gentle hand the others in a fit of rage. I watch as they churn up the muddied water, sloshing the dirtied rain as they disrupted the soft rhythmic falling of raindrops that are accumulating into puddles.

I use my free hand to slick my hair back with numb fingers. My mind is chaotic as every now and again I chance a look upwards just in case. But the house has been silent ever since the light went out.

I don't know how long I've been sitting out here. I have no way to keep time. I just keep sending up silent prayers to the vast, moonlit sky that it isn't what it seems. That she didn't lie to me.

But it was all far too coincidental. It was too premeditated. It was something that the logical half of my brain couldn't ignore.

I feel a slight light hit my face and I look up sideways. The house is illuminated again, but I can't see them. To me the brightness almost seems orange now, a representation of the gateway to hell – for me anyway, because all of my nightmares lay just beyond a pane of glass.

I slink away, shrinking back into the night. The cover of darkness is providing me a safe shelter for my quiet observations.

Moments later he reappears at the front door; his muscles are relaxed but still controlled, he is lucid. But her demeanour when she appears is contrived, mechanical and I so badly want to run. But I won't, I have to see for myself.

She crosses her arms over her chest, her shoulders hunching slightly; she is clearly trying to protect herself against the cold that Lima is offering up tonight.

He touches her, his fingertips lingering on her arm. The action seemed too loaded, too affectionate to simply be a kind gesture. I squeeze my eyes shut again, but the images that bombard me now are worse than the ones I'm confronted with.

I'm frozen in this moment. I may as well be carved from stone albeit become a gargoyle crafted specifically to ward Puck away from this house. From her.

I want to disrupt this rendezvous, I want to let everything flood out and confront them - but I don't.

Instead I'm a spectator, sitting on the sidelines observing and soaking up every glance, every touch that is shared between the two.

I need to hate her, I need the outlet so badly but it doesn't come.

I watch him slope off back to his car a satisfied grin etched onto his lips. As he drives away, I propel myself forward into the light. This part I hadn't planned out in my mind.

"Britt what are you doing here?" I detect a trace of panic and I feel sated.

"What was Puck doing here?" I counter, but she begins to shake her head.

"You shouldn't be here" She stares off meaningfully to the road where Puck's car had been moments before. "Nothing happened" she adds quickly.

"So were you studying?" I ask, my voice syrupy and high.

"No we weren't studying." This takes me aback. At least she is being honest about that part.

"So why did you need the lights off Santana? Was he demonstrating how glow sticks work?" She raises an eyebrow, I'm rambling and I know it. I'm clutching at any dignity that I have left. But I must admit I'm not even making any sense to myself.

She ignores me completely.

"You're wet."

"I know that, thanks for pointing out the obvious." She flinches under the weight of my stare and harshness of my tone.

"Come in, you can borrow some of my clothes." She steps to one side, but I don't make any attempt to move.

"I don't need your charity. Just some honesty would be nice." She sighs loudly again, as if she has the right to be the exasperated one.

"Listen just - just come inside, you can get dry and then we can talk ok?" She offers her hand; as if that means that I'll suddenly take her up on the proposal.

I shake my head. "I don't need you Santana, and I certainly don't need your pity." Neither one of us has moved.

I look her right in the eye. "I was going to tell you San." My voice has gone soft, betraying me and my weakness. "I was going to tell you. San, I was going to tell you _why_, but there's no point." She knows what I'm referring to.

She steps out bare foot. "You're going to get sick. Please Britt, please come in." I start backing away now.

All of my suppressed emotions bubble to the surface, but she doesn't see. I'm alone I realise as I flee down winding roads. For the first time Santana had finally accomplished in making me feel truly unaided.

I'm so tired of being here, being me. If I could shed my skin, just slip from my own bones I would do it - I'm certain that then I would be happy.

But the thing of it is this, whether I liked it or not Santana would always have a hold on me, her being is so deeply printed into my own.

I stop.

My feet suddenly still. I need to go back, I need to stop running away from her.

When I round the corner a second time that night her door is open. Panic rises up, but then I see her, sitting cross legged in the doorway and examining something in her hands.

"San" I say softly and her head snaps up. Before I can get any closer she comes out to me running, she doesn't slow and the force of her body impacting mine nearly knocks me off balance. I hold her close, my arms squeezing around her until it's unbearable for the both of us.

"You came back." She whispers into my shoulder. I don't respond, but I loosen my grip. The rain is now a light mist giving the moment an element of calmness and serenity.

"Can we be honest?" I blurt out.

"Depends what it is you want me to be honest about." The shift in mood has become electric, she changes almost as quickly as me. I hold out my pinky finger and for the briefest of moments her face changes to one of shock. She wraps her finger around mine and when she does I ask the first question.

"Did you invite Puck over, or did he invite himself over?"

"I invited him over." She says without an inch of regret in her tone.

"Right, ok" I swallow down the nervousness. "Have you had sex with him?"

"Yes." She says and she clearly isn't remorseful.

"Ok," I say steadying myself. "That's all I needed to know." I loosen my grip and turning my back to her I begin to walk.

"Don't I get to ask any questions!" She shouts. I walk up to her so closely that I can see the flecks of gold in her big brown eyes.

"No" I say through gritted teeth. "You don't." It comes out as barely a whisper.

"I'm not the only one at fault here," her voice is cold as she jabs her finger accusingly at me. "I can't always be on call for you. You know I love you but you abuse that. You, ugh, you just – listen I'm not taking it anymore, it's not who I am." I see her point; I've known it for awhile I'm just stunned that she has said it out loud.

"I was always on call for you though, whenever you needed me I was there. I never gave up on you. But that's fine Santana, keep looking out for number one. Why change a habit of a lifetime." For the first time in months, I was the one left alone crying, the sound of Santana's front door slamming shut just told me how much everything had changed.

Right now I needed her as a friend but she couldn't even be that for me.

I began the walk from Santana's house to Quinn's place. Maybe it's time I put my trust in another.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: Thank you everyone who reviewed the last chapter and those of you who have reviewed previous chapters. It really does mean a lot to me - it also makes me write faster :)

Here's a song recommendation for you all - 'Pumped Up Kicks' by Foster The People. It is a seriously fantastic song, definitely worth listening to.

Please review! Thanks!

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><p>I reach Quinn's house and hesitate to knock on her door. It feels wrong to go to someone else and talk about everything, but the only person who had been there for me in the past wasn't there anymore.<p>

I knock twice, my knuckles ache slightly from the ferocity of which I rap my fist on the wood.

But the door finally opens, and the last person I want to see is currently standing in front of me.

"Hello Mrs Fabray is Quinn in?" Mrs Fabray has always been somewhat of a riddle to me. Her stoic expression and obvious discomfort in her own skin makes me uneasy. She doesn't bother with pleasantries and never stays in one place long; she is always flitting from one person to another, not once engaging in idle talk – maybe she thinks homosexuality can be caught just like a common cold.

I snicker in my mind, whilst my face portrays innocence and serenity. She eyes me sceptically.

"No she's not. Shall I pass on a message?" Her tone of voice grates on me, like rubbing my skin raw with sand paper. This moment right now is painful and awkward. I shift my weight from one foot to the other and then back again.

"Can you tell her I dropped by please Mrs Fabray?"

She doesn't even acknowledge me with words now; she nods once and promptly closes the door in my face. I feel a flash of anger, but I realise its irrational – Mrs Fabray had always been uptight so why would tonight be any exception?

As I turn to leave I hear a quiet voice calling my name. I look all around but I can't see anyone, but as I start walking away again a hand flies out and pulls me down onto the ground just beneath an old drooping Ohio Buckeye tree. I go to scream, but a hand clamps over my mouth.

I thrash furiously, the sudden panic having a firm hold around my neck and my breathing is intense rasping out sporadically trying to get as much oxygen as possible.

"Britt it's me shush." I still beneath Quinn's hands and she finally takes them away from my mouth and waist.

"What was up with that? You need to calm down a lot more. Santana has you so highly strung doesn't she?" Her voice picks up a playful tone; I find it hard to reciprocate it with my own voice.

"No she doesn't. Quinn why are you out here beneath a tree in the rain and the cold, especially when your house is ten steps away?" I see a flash of white teeth as she smiles, I hear the shifting of dirt and squint into the dark to see what she is doing. She is dragging a part of a branch through the mud, moving the damp, sticky earth this way and then that way.

"I went to go see someone." She looks almost bashful and I feel lost. I should know these things.

"Who?" Her smile turns more into a smirk as she continues to concentrate on the ground.

"Just some brunette." She replies nonchalantly. But something seems... not right.

"Name?" She stills the branch finally leaving it on the ground, she stands up abruptly.

"You don't know them so it doesn't matter" I shrug, if she doesn't want to tell me that's her own prerogative. "So why are you at mine? Do you want to come in and talk?" She brushes herself off and offers her hand to me.

"Actually I'm fine Quinn. I er - I hope everything works out for you. You know between you and this mystery brunette." I give her a quick hug, because that is what is expected of me.

"Are you sure?" But I can already see it in her eyes, the desperation to get away and be by herself to text whoever this new guy is. I shake my head exuberantly, my lips curling up into a smile.

"It's good, honestly Quinn. I just was dropping by at random." She furrows her eyebrows as if she is about to protest but I have already begun to depart.

I can't remember how long I've been walking for, or where I have been. I could only identify different sensations that filled my entire being.

I thought of witty retorts that I could say to Santana the next time I would see her. I would win this battle this time.

I push my hands deeper into my pockets, and feeling the rain start to fall heavily from the sky I can't help but get some kind of pleasure from walking amongst the droplets.

As each drop falls upon my face, cold and wet it exhilarates me and I feel _alive_. That feeling is so rare and fleeting I bask in it now. I extricate my hands from my pockets and hold my arms open wide, encompassing the night with my warmest embrace. I wish I could pluck a star from above to put it upon my ceiling in my room. I feel so awake, as if I could physically burst from all of this sudden energy coursing through my veins.

My maniacal laughter causes puffs of mist to curl from my lips and up into the atmosphere. It has gotten that cold. I cup my hands now, trying to collect the water. After a few successful droplets I stare into it and see my eyes reflected back. A stranger's eyes now. I don't recognise them as being my own, they aren't blue enough, they aren't clear enough they no longer seem so innocent.

I throw the water into my own face to refresh me and I begin a game with myself – I'm trying to outrun the rain fall. I sprint trying to dodge and weave and twist between the onslaughts. I take refuge underneath another buckeye tree and fumble for my phone.

Except I neglected it at home. I wonder if my parents have noticed yet – probably. I run all the way home, concerned about my parents current level of sanity.

Before I even reach my own door my mother meets me halfway ensnaring me in the tightest hug I have ever received. My father hovers in the doorway.

"Where the hell have you been? You've been gone for four hours, and you're soaked!" She looks like she doesn't know whether to hit me or hug me again. She decides on the latter and pulls me in tightly.

"I went to Santana's house." I feel the muscles in her arms stiffen. "Then onto Quinn's place, she wasn't home but I ran into her anyway." I think in this case less is more, or some other cliché such as what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

"I'm sorry if I scared you mom. Honest." She pulls away and I see the tears embedded like tiny crystals in the corners of her eyes.

Her face has softened dramatically now. I think my mom likes this side to me. I almost forget that sometimes I can feel something if I allowed myself. But I know that right now isn't the correct emotional response to what has happened. I should be feeling lost and upset, but instead I feel euphoric and uplifted. I plan on dining out on it for as long as I possibly can.

She squeezes my shoulders one last time and then I'm left exposed to the cool air. It is funny how I didn't feel cold all night long, even in the rain - that was until I was exposed to warmth and then it left me.

My father still hangs around in the doorway, he hasn't said a word but I know he was taking everything in – every word uttered, shifts in posture – absolutely everything. I don't have to look directly at him to know that he is watching me.

"Come in Bri before you get sick." That's the only contribution my father makes. I walk up the path quickly my mom is close by my side, rubbing my arm soothingly.

When I step in and turn the corner Stephanie is sitting there, hunched over on the couch her long blonde hair is a mess and her clear, blue eyes that remind me so much of my own are red and puffy.

"Steph-" She looks up, her eyes flitting to mom and dad behind me then refocusing back in on me. "-why are you crying?"

She shakes her head, using the heels of her hands to press into her eyes. Her nose has turned a little pink on the end.

"I was scared Bri, I went into your room to give you something but when I saw that there was nothing in there and that you had left your phone behind I panicked. I thought you were- you know, I thought it was going to be like last time."

I didn't know what to say, I barely remember what had taken place in the early days. In that respect, at least I'm now coherent enough to know what I do and who I see on a daily basis.

"I didn't mean to worry you all. It's just that, I really needed to see her."

"See who Bri?" Before I could I answer Steph, my mom piped up.

"Santana" she said, her voice laced with disdain. I couldn't figure out why though, after all she didn't know what had happened.

"Well, Bri" my sister begins hesitantly. "Santana gave me something to give to you earlier." There was a pause of silence. "But you know I can just put it in the trash if you want?" Before she had really finished her sentence I was already reaching out for it.

I take it from her hands, examining the small box closely. "I'll be upstairs in my room ok?" My father nodded and I practically run up the stairs leaving them whispering at my back.

When I reach my room I switch on the lamp and place the box in the centre of my bed.

I sit cross legged amongst my pillows staring at it, wondering what could be so important that she felt the need to wrap it up. For a brief moment I feel like Pandora as I pick it up and turn it over in my hands. I open the lid and I am confronted with a slip of paper.

I murmur the words out loud beneath the whisper of breath. "Just because something is broken doesn't mean it can't be fixed – the cracks are visible scars of what happened to it before."

My eyes began to well up with tears when I saw the little china duck that I had thrown angrily out of my window, glued carefully back together, the fault lines creating a map right across the ornament.

I knew what she was saying. She wants to fix me, but I'm not even sure she can.

A quote that I used to love sprang to mind, so I slipped my hand beneath the pillow to retrieve my journal. I flicked through the pages until my hand stilled. It had its own page dedicated to it.

"_And then I felt sad because I realized that once people are broken in certain ways, they can't ever be fixed, and this is something nobody ever tells__ you when you are young and it never fails to surprise you as you grow older as you see the people in your life break one by one. You wonder when your turn is going to be, or if it's already happened. " - Douglas Coupland. _

I held the book in one hand and picked up the china duck with the other. I so badly wanted to believe her words, I want to invest myself completely in her belief that she can fix me.

I let the duck fall and hit the bed with a dull thud. I can't be saved.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: So the reason for the tardiness with this chapter? 1) I rewrote this chapter four times because I just couldn't quite capture the mood that I wanted to in words. 2) It was my birthday yesterday (19/11) so I was extremely busy with that as well. I would like to reiterate that there are going to be some themes in this ff that will make people uncomfortable, but these themes won't be graphic in any way. This ff is rated M for a reason folks so just to remind you guys.

Anyways, please review - consider that a gift from you to me ok? :) I'll be honest seeing a review for something I wrote makes me all kinds of happy and therefore spurs me on to write more. So do it do it DOOO ITTTT!

Sincerely C x

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><p>I think therefore I am. Self-fulfilling prophecy. If you fail to aim you aim to fail.<p>

What do these things even mean to most people?

I am confronted with these notions every single day of my life. I don't think about them often, but I _feel_ what they mean with every passing second.

I keep these feelings firmly behind my teeth and lodged deep down into the core of me, sometimes they can be ignored. But more often than not, they make their presence known at the most inopportune moments. Sometimes it's like I have no control over my own body and actions. It's as if I am helpless, bound tightly by my mind into a certain way of being; but I know that powerlessness isn't just limited to me but my family as well. Last night proved that.

However, today is a new day. A new start. I see Finn and make my way over to him.

"Hey Finn!" I say excitedly, the smile on my face is so forced that it's starting to hurt my cheeks.

Finn shuts his locker door carefully and turns to look at me, his mouth is twisted up into a half smile he looks uncomfortable. Sometimes the way Finn acts reminds me of Mrs Fabray and how awkward she is in her own skin – but Finn seems warmer than her, I don't know how.

"Hey Britt – what's up?" He looks at someone behind me briefly, one blink and I would've missed it.

He shifts his weight and hooks a thumb into the strap of his back pack. Whoever it is, his eyes keep trailing there to them.

"Nothing and you?" I say. I very rarely speak to Finn, mainly because Santana used to tell me not to. But now is the time for me to make my own judgements about people. So far there isn't anything to dislike about Finn. Even though Finn is so tall, you can tell he is soft and weak. Santana never had time for weak people.

"My joints are aching again – growth pains suck." He says, but I can tell his focus isn't really here with me.

"Yeah. That does suck." I agree half heartedly, my own eyes are now wandering looking for anyone else. When Finn's gaze seems to be entirely invested in whatever is going on behind me my curiosity takes over. I see Quinn and Rachel talking, well; actually it looks like more of an argument. I'm just glad it isn't Santana; otherwise I would feel the need to intervene again.

"Finn, just go over to her." He smiles gratefully at me and I watch on as he walks right on through the student body to Rachel and sweeps her up in a hug. I look a little more closely and something seems off with those three. It's not something I can put my finger on and that alone is making me feel uneasy.

My eyes sweep the immediate area; Tina and Mike are a lost cause as they have been kissing for the past 15 minutes. Mercedes is in a deep conversation with Sam, but I feel that I can't look at them too long – it hurts too much. Sam must have sensed me looking because he starts to smile, I turn away. I had actively avoided seeking her out; afraid of what I might see, but now I can't look away.

Pinned up against the wall is Santana, Puck's hands rest either side of her head as he is bearing all of his weight on his palms. The closer he leans in the wider she smiles. I feel sick. My chest hurts and my muscles stiffen. I can't tell what I'm feeling; it's chaotic beneath this flesh as a myriad of sensation is coursing through my blood stream.

What would you do? Who would you tell?

After their kiss she slips her hand into his and they walk away. Slowly, so painfully slowly and what can I do? What right do I have?

I have no claim over her, not anymore but it doesn't put a stop to my hurt. As Tina and Mike walk on by I smile at them exuberantly. Maybe a distraction is what I need; I take two long strides and hook them both in with my arms.

"Have I ever told you that dolphins are just gay sharks?" I announce. The confused look that they share almost makes me laugh. I glance once more over my shoulder but they have disappeared into the ether. I feel hollow.

School days are beginning to merge into one for me. It is an endless rigmarole of teachers, students and gossiping. The only words that caught my attention were that Santana and Puck are together as a couple. Everything else is a blur.

As I step through the front door of my home, I throw my bag on the floor. I can hear my mom moving around in the kitchen.

"I'm going up to my room" I call out. I hear the faintest noise which I take it to mean that she heard.

I stride up the stairs, and as quickly as my sadness dissipates my anger begins to boil up. By the time I reach the top I feel ready to exact revenge on anything I can lay my hands on.

I move to the bathroom and slide the lock across. The turquoise walls and dolphin patterns are supposed to make you feel calm but it isn't having that effect on me. Right now I couldn't care less about keeping placid. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I snap it open. Text waiting.

_Didn't see you today. Where were you? San x_

I launch my phone into the tiling and feel a small amount of satisfaction as the plastic crunches against it. It's like an explosion of circuitry.

I'm breathing heavily; I can hear it echoing around this cold room. I secure my hands on the ceramic sink; the cool smooth surface feels strange against the palms of my hands. I start to rub my hands up and down; sometimes I trace a circle with my index finger on the glossy finish. I grip it tightly until my knuckles turn white, I feel so powerful right now that I believe I could break it in two.

I feel my blood pulsing as I look up into the mirror, a strangers face is reflected back. I try to run a trembling hand through my hair, but my fingers become ensnared in the knots and tangles. I yank on them roughly, feeling a pinch of pain at my scalp initially and then some kind of sordid release of rage.

I rub my palms over my face, pressing more and more into my skin so that my cheeks start to become red with the friction. I am trying to relieve the pressure of pain from my features but it doesn't seem to be working. I notice the dark circles under my eyes, a permanent shadow beneath my lashes signalling my restless nights of sleep.

I feel detached from my mirror image, as if I'm entirely separate emotionally from the way that I appear. Then I see it. Reflected back at me and plain to see is the fear in my eyes. My mouth opens and closes a few times, but finally my lips move forcing a single word out on a breath, blustering quietly into the air. It's a strange sensation to watch myself speak.

"Raped."

It's the first time I've said it. Admitting it out loud makes me feel weak and dirty. My chest becomes tight and I feel my heart beating. Suddenly my adrenaline is pumping and spurring me into action.

"He raped me" I say again through gritted teeth. I attach the memory to this moment and I sicken myself. My throat is tight and my stomach aches.

The mirror cracks slightly as I beat it over and over again with a short, strong metal pole. I don't know where I even picked it up from. I drop it to the floor and continue to throw punches at it. Tiny shards of the glass are now embedded into the knuckles of my fist. A burning sensation engulfs my hand as the blood, hot and thick rolls quickly from the wounds down to my elbow. I stop when I hear a banging on the door and my mom's panicked voice crying out for me. I turn around and press my back firmly into the wall, placing my hands against it I slide down feeling the energy leave me. I know that I have smeared my blood against the turquoise of the room; the satisfaction I had moments ago has ebbed away and left me with regret. I should've hit him. I should've protected myself but my naivety got me here. My innocence meant that I was open to all kinds of abuse. I had been moulded at the will of others.

I have a lot of regret.

My mom's voice breaks me from my reverie and I know that eventually I will have to unlock the bathroom door. I get up and do so, but I quickly return to the position I was in before, I feel safe in this isolation. When I don't hear footsteps or movement of any sort I look up. My mom has gone pale but her expression is neutral.

"Bri what have you done to yourself?" She says the words, a sigh caught in her throat.

"Isn't it obvious?" I retort bitterly, but she doesn't leave me alone. She never does. Instead she crouches down next to me and gingerly takes my hands in hers. A river of blood is trickling now and when reaching the end of its course it drips onto the floor. I follow its rhythm intently to try and distract from the tears in my mom's eyes.

"Let's clean you up." She says calmly, but I shake my head. I don't want to go anywhere. So my mom reaches for a towel and dampens it with water. She tries to coax me off the floor by pointing out that I'm sitting on glass as well – it doesn't work. She starts patting down my face with the damp towel, I didn't even realise that I had blood smeared there. I chance a look in my mom's eyes and wished that I hadn't. I can see her sorrow, her pain and most of all her confusion. She didn't know why I was being like this or recognise who I am. I can't blame her. I just blame myself and him.

He did this and I let him. I squeeze out a few tears, but my mom doesn't hug me, she continues to tend to my wounds. She knows that I could turn at any moment and change into someone violent, someone who couldn't be trusted not to hurt anyone.

"Mom." I say, but she doesn't look up she's still trying to stem the flow of blood from my fists.

"Mmhmm?" She murmurs out through closed lips.

"I'm sorry." I feel small again and pathetic that I can't seem to control myself.

I can hear her breaths heavy and resigned.

"I know."

That's all she says. Maybe because that is the one thing she is certain of – that I'm always sorry afterwards.

"I don't mean to hurt you mom." I mean it, I really do, but right now I'm making the woman who gave me life cry. They are silent tears, warm and sad dripping down her face leaving salty tracks in their wake.

"I know that too." We sit in silence, as she pulls the pieces of mirror out and presses the towel on my hands; I jerk back in pain. I'm not quite so numb now, impervious to the pain that most people experience. But my mom holds me firm exerting a little more pressure.

I'm amazed that such tiny cuts could produce so much blood. I try to flex my fingers but it hurts too much.

"So what happened?" Her voice is raspy now, straining to make it heard.

"Santana texted me. I heard a rumour today that she is seeing some guy and I got mad." I look down ashamed, because something so simple shouldn't cause such a reaction. But it isn't so simple, and I wasn't really thinking about that as I struck out at the mirror.

I hated seeing myself this way; I hated mirrors and glassy surfaces always showing me who I had become. Really it was my way of expressing this desire to punish myself and him. He led me on this path of hatred. I loathed this darkness in me, it made me angry and frustrated with what life had dealt me.

Why did it have to be me?

It's something I ask all the time. Something that plagues everything I do. I try to fight it, I try to ignore it. I don't look to the past because it's just yet another reminder of the ignorant bubble that I lived in before.

The stars were the last thing I saw that night, and the only thing that helped me try to block out what was happening. My mouth ached and pulsed from the force he used to muffle my screams. But the stars, they helped me in an odd way.

I shake slightly and my mom must think I'm cold.

"We need to get you to a doctor." She says, she had said it so many times before. But that was a different kind of doctor, the kind that helps you cope, and the kind that heals your mind. But I don't want to divulge my secret to a stranger though, I was worried about what if's. What if they didn't help me? What if it didn't work?

Then I would lose the last shred of my humanity.

I couldn't allow that.

"I'm fine mom honestly. I just need some bandages." She knows she won't win but she tries again half heartedly.

"I really think you should Bri. You need a professional." Suddenly I don't think we are talking about just any doctor to clean my hands. I think she's referring to a doctor to cleanse my soul.

"Bandages mom, that's all I need." Her face is an unreadable mask again as she stands up and helps me along with her. We walk downstairs and I sit at the kitchen table, waiting expectantly for my first aid.

My mom comes back with the box and begins to use antiseptic wipes. As she starts wrapping up my hands she tries to probe further into my life.

"So you and Santana aren't together anymore?" She chances a glance in my direction and I meet her gaze briefly.

"No we aren't." I wince slightly as my mom wraps another layer of the bandage around my knuckles making it tighter.

"Any reason?" She is trying to keep it light, knowing that I usually clam up with questions like these.

I shrug and wince again as she makes another pass over the raw skin with the bandage.

"Just grew apart I guess." My mom halts her busy work to look me directly in the eyes.

"Is it because..." She trails of meaningfully and now it's my turn to sigh.

"She can't handle the way I am. Which is fair, because I'm sure it's hard for anyone. If I had the choice I would walk away from myself too." I say firmly.

"Bri don't talk like that, a true measure of someone is how much they stick by you through the good _and _the bad. You can't just stick around for all the fun stuff and then not expect some sad times too." I understand where my mom is coming from, but she is related to me. She has to pass on these little nuggets of wisdom and be there for me because we are bound by blood.

"Mom what will happen to the bathroom?" I realise how selfish it was as repainting the walls and buying a new mirror is further costs that my parent's just don't need.

"I'll speak to your father." Noticing my dejected expression she quickly adds, "We were going to redecorate anyway." I shake my head – we both know it's a lie.

She stops wrapping and sits back checking over her handiwork.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She ventures, but she knows the answer. It's always the same.

"No I'm ok mom. I'm just going to head up to my room." I stand up swiftly, wanting to get away as fast as possible.

But my mom knows that isn't where I'm heading too. Instead I'm detouring to Quinn's house, just to try and forget for awhile, hopefully she will distract me.

I grab my keys and go to my car as at the moment I'm too paranoid to walk the streets alone in Lima. I check the inside of my car just to make sure and eventually slide in – I lock the doors immediately. I don't know why I'm panicking so much more than usual, but right now I have a sense of impending doom.

As I wrap my hands around the steering wheel the bandages rub against my raw skin, burning and throbbing I try to take control of my car. When I finally get to Quinn's I'm in so much pain that my eyes are beginning to tear up.

I look up towards the house sensing some movement. But what I see I can scarcely believe. I almost feel the need to rub my eyes to make sure that I haven't started hallucinating. Rachel is waving enthusiastically back to Quinn who is sharing exactly the same smile.

Once the brunette is gone I practically run up the path.

"Quinn is Rachel your mystery brunette?" She laughs in return.

"And a nice hello to you too Britt."

"Quinn" I say warningly and it is almost like how things used to be.

"Not everyone is slanted to your lesbian agenda Britt." She folds her arms indignantly.

"Well who is it?" I say eagerly, I want to hold onto this feeling for as long as possible – this easy kind of conversation.

"Come inside and we'll talk about that and then we can talk about what's going on with you."

I look up at her inquisitively but she gestures towards my hands. Suddenly I wished I hadn't come here and instead wallow in pity in my own room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: Firstly thank you for the birthday wishes and secondly thank you for the reviews. Again I'm sorry for the two week hiatus on this ff, just been finding it really difficult to put emotions into words. I don't wanna write a chapter and post it up if it is devoid of emotion or not coherent.

Hope you all can forgive me!

Sincerely C x

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><p>I invite the winter air in as I open Quinn's bedroom window. She is lying on her side, propping up her head with her hand and staring right at me.<p>

"Why do you always want the window open? It's cold in here already." I shrug my shoulders. I wouldn't be able to express exactly how I felt about it. The coolness of winter centres me in ways I don't quite understand; the slap of chilled air focuses me and allows me to feel again.

"Just feel hot." I say simply, it is easier than explaining what goes on in my mind. She rolls onto her back and sighs loudly.

"What?" I ask, I notice the subtle arch of her eyebrow and the cursory way she looks out of the corner of her eye at me. I fall heavily into the blue armchair with a soft thud.

"I'm waiting." She says. I smile inwardly.

"For what?"

"For you to ask the question you've been dying to ask me since you turned up here." She says. It hasn't exactly been preying on my mind; I've had other things to think about.

"Well, since you brought this up, start talking then – who is this mystery brunette?" She covers her face with her hands and mumbles. I can't hear her properly.

"I didn't catch that? What did you say?"

"I said you're going to judge me for this." I'm slightly amused and yet frustrated with her dodging of my question, especially as she had promised answers. I nod my head for her to continue.

"It's Finn." My mouth pops open with an "o" of understanding.

"And before you ask, Rachel was here to talk about glee club. Finn says he is going to ditch her soon and you know that saying _keep your friends close and your enemies closer._" Even as she says this I can't help but feel a pang of anger at her. She is back to playing her old games and even then it was tiresome.

"I don't think that's right Quinn. It's not fair on Rachel." I have her full attention now as she springs upright on her bed and swivels to face me.

"She did it to me before, so it is only fair." Her cheeks are flushed, which is usually a sign that she knows she is doing wrong.

"But it's not fair. Think of how you felt when Finn cheated on you with Rachel. Do you even like him?" She looks away and then slams her hands, palm down into the mattress. As the springs adjust to the force they squeak, breaking the sudden tension for a matter of seconds.

"Why are you sticking up for her? Santana told me that you stuck up for her the other day. Do you like her or something?" My face gets hot and I ignore the latter part of her sentence. Most importantly she spoke to Santana.

"When did she tell you that?" I ask. I feel as if a part of me has been torn away, especially since I haven't really spoken to her. I receive any and all information about her second hand.

"Yesterday, she couldn't understand it. Do you... well you know?" I feel angry again. It seems that just because of my preference for girls means that any female I stick up for is fair game.

"No I don't know. What are you talking about?" A slight pink colour is tinting her cheeks, as much as she is fine with me she still finds it difficult talking directly about homosexuality.

"Do you – well you know, are you like, interested. In her. I mean do you like her?"

"Not like that I don't. But I think she's a good person really and she doesn't deserve to be treated the way she is. Sure she is showy sometimes, but she is always there for whoever needs her." Quinn begins to scowl, because even if I haven't said it directly, she knows that I'm having another dig at her. She is shaking her head slightly, either to push the thoughts away or to disagree with what I have said. I can't tell which.

"I've got a question for you Quinn. Do you want him just because Rachel has him? Is this a revenge thing?" The room becomes eerily silent and to be honest that is indication enough that that is exactly what she is doing this for.

"It doesn't matter does it? He likes me not her." She retorts. After a beat more of silence she lays back down and continues to stare up towards the ceiling. I draw my knees up and wrap my arms around my legs. Resting my chin on my knees I stare at her for a moment and wonder what it is that makes her so insecure, why is it that she needs to seduce someone else's boyfriend in order for her to feel good?

"So what happened to your hands?" She says suddenly breaking me from my thoughts.

"Had an accident whilst cooking." The lies come automatically now, I don't even hesitate and maintain a steady level of eye contact.

"That was some accident to get both of your hands." She says sarcastically, but I pretend not to hear the accusation in her tone.

I nod in agreement, hoping my facial expression conveys some sort of sincerity, even though she isn't looking at me directly.

"Listen, I've got to go. Places to go, people to see and all of that." I begin to uncurl myself and when I stand I stretch out my limbs.

"So you're going to see Santana then?" The question takes me by surprise, especially as it hadn't even occurred to me to go see her.

"No, I'm not. I wouldn't want to disrupt her." A whole host of involuntary images crowds my mind and it feels as if someone is gripping my throat and restricting my breathing. Quinn rolls back onto her side and looks at me dead in the eyes.

"You know Britt – you shouldn't believe everything that you hear."

I wonder if she would be saying this if she knew what I knew. If she knew that they had slept together, that he claimed her every chance that he got in front of me at school. But how could she know? Why would she even care?

I don't acknowledge what she says; instead I head for the door, turning briefly to say goodbye and thank you. I make my own way out into the fresh winter's air, and breathe it in until my nose begins to sting and my lungs feel like they are on fire.

I shake my head once more not believing a word that Quinn was saying to me. After all, she doesn't know everything.

She doesn't know what happened.

* * *

><p>I wake up the next day, feeling the dregs of sleep pulling at my eyelids, wanting me to stay in bed and fall back asleep. But I couldn't bring myself to.<p>

I couldn't decide what to do anymore, but I know that I want to tell Santana. She had always been my utopia, my one person I could store all my secrets into. But somewhere along the way we had lost that, and in the process I lost myself.

But, the situation was one that we had never been in before. For the first time in a very long while, we weren't speaking. We hadn't necessarily had a falling out, but we weren't on good terms either. Right now, my dream still stuck in my mind and she was everywhere and everything.

I stretch my arms up, and straighten my back hearing a satisfying click of my joints and bones and instantly feeling pressure being released from my body.

I will tell her. It becomes clear as day and I must do it. I can't be a coward any longer.

I push the duvet off and prepare for today.

* * *

><p>It's lunchtime now and I've taken to either sitting with Quinn or sitting alone. Right now Quinn is idly poking a lettuce leaf with her fork and I am sipping some juice. After the conversation about her and Finn, she has been very quiet. I think she has been reflecting on whether or not she should carry on seeing him. I feel this kind of kinship with her now and we can sit here in a comfortable silence. A sudden shift in her demeanour catches my attention, she sits upright and runs her fingers through her hair trying to detangle the ends quickly. I twist in my chair to see who she is staring at. An overwhelming feeling of vulnerability takes over as I see Sam and Puck walking side by side laughing and joking. Sam breaks away from Puck, his focus is completely on Quinn. Sam's eyes shift to mine every once in awhile a smirk lifts up one side of his mouth. Puck is standing in the distance, staring at me. I go to get up and leave, but Sam leans over me from behind, his arms ensnaring me from the sides as he starts to talk to Quinn. My heartbeat picks up and my palms begin to sweat.<p>

"So when are you next free?" He says, leaning a little lower down into me.

"Whenever you want me to be" She replies, twisting a lock of her hair around her index finger. I push up from my seat, the closeness becoming too much. As I walk away quickly I hear him ask Quinn what is wrong with me.

With a heavy heart and heavy mind I leave and I don't look back.

* * *

><p>I've been waiting all day to catch Santana alone, but she never is. Puck is always there, his arm slung loosely around her shoulders.<p>

But whenever he looks up and I make eye contact in return, he can't carry on with it – he turns away from me. He knows what he did.

It's almost time for Glee club and I decide that, straight after the meeting would be the best time to catch her and talk in a quiet secluded spot. It's strange, but I feel oddly at peace for the first time since I was... since I was attacked. Since I had my dignity stripped away from me.

I wonder how she'll take the news, or whether she'll even believe me. I guess there's no point in trying to anticipate something that is so entirely beyond my control, it's futile.

A movement in front of me breaks me from my reverie, I focus in and notice tan skin stretched over prominent muscles. My heart is beating fast, and I'm looking for anywhere to hide, or anyone who could save me. My mouth has gone dry, suddenly parched and desperate for water. I go to turn but he has already grasped my wrist tightly, and begun to drag me away and into the janitor's closet.

I go to scream, but I can't. I try again and rather than a shout for help a whisper of defeat passes from my lips.

His rough hand closes over my mouth, his elbow supports him propping his weight using the wall. His other forearm is pressed against my shoulders, pushing harder against me, one slight movement and he would be choking me at the base of my throat. I start hoping, I wish that someone will come along and see what is happening behind this closed door.

For a brief moment I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, but now they are cool and collected. Icy and shallow his brown eyes are the only things I can look at, but are the last things I want to see. My hands scramble, trying to scratch, to kick or hit. But I'm the caught prey again. I want to cry, but I know I'm shutting down, I know I'm becoming numb to fight what is about to happen because if I don't I won't survive.

"I'm going to talk and you're going to listen 'kay?" I try one last attempt at pushing him away, instead he presses a little more into me and I'm wishing that I could just black out.

"You aren't going to fuck things up between me and Santana. She is mine, not yours."

My eyes widen, suddenly I'm overwhelmed with guilty thoughts for leaving her vulnerable to him.

"Stop trying to fuck her mind up, she doesn't want you she wants me. Remember what I told you?"

I try to nod but his strength has me immobilised.

"Good, keep your mouth shut. I mean it Brittany." With that he moves away sharply, leaving me to crumple upon the floor.

"And don't think about talking to her anymore. You ignore her. She doesn't exist." He doesn't request it this time, but tells me.

My palms are sweating, my knuckles ache and my pulse is quick as he slams the door closed. I begin to cry, the shock and adrenaline is coursing through my veins doing strange and uncontrollable things to my body. I curl up on my side in the closet. The dim light casts a sinister glow to the items it touches and yet leaves partially in darkness.

Every footstep that walks past this janitor's closet has me shaking, but I can't bring myself to move. I feel as if I physically can't.

I flick through memory after memory, image after image of my life. I spend this time thinking freely of Santana to the point of it being considered greedy, I need her, but I don't want to drag her down with me.

I remember the last time she had touched me and compared it to the last time she had tried to. Two days before, it was an intimate act warm and loving. Two days after and it felt wrong, her attempt left me feeling on edge and crying; coiled up on the corner of the bed. I flinched when she went to reassure me. My reaction to her kisses was enough to make her leave me alone and thus, that was the beginning of the end.

I push myself from the ground onto my hands and knees, my head bowed low willing the strength to move from this darkness.

I stand upright and faintly I can hear two familiar voices.

"I've just heard that you and Britt have been spending a lot of time together – so is it true? Have you two been together?" I can detect the bite in her tone.

"So what if it is or isn't true?" Quinn's voice is taunting and mocking. "It's not like you care right?"

There's a beat of silence as their footsteps become louder as they pass right by the door.

"Stop fucking around. Just tell me – now!" Santana is practically shouting, but I can detect the undertone of panic.

"I'll tell you this San, not everyone is slanted to your lesbian agenda." I recognise the words as being the ones Quinn said to me before.

"I told you I'm not a lesbian, I'm bi-sexual. Now I want some answers Quinn, starting with Bri..." her voice trails off the further they walk away.

I bang my fists against the wall, a low unsatisfying thud echoes and my hands sting. The wounds throb and burn reminding me of what I had done before.

I run. I sprint out of the door and everything becomes a blur with the exception of my feet pushing me further, making me dodge Santana and Quinn and leave them calling my name. I sprint to the parking lot and fall to my knees, crying on the tarmac. The shock is wearing off and wave after wave of emotion is racking through me.

I feel arms engulf me as they begin to rock me back and forth, murmuring words of encouragement.

"Quinn let go of her. It's not your place." The warmth of Quinn's embrace leaves me as she stands up; I look through blurred vision at the two seemingly squaring up to each other.

"Does it really matter? I'm just as much of a friend to her as you are!"

"It matters to me ok? So back off." Santana says through gritted teeth.

"Why huh? Why does it matter so much to you?" They are talking as if I am invisible.

"If you're truly a friend" Quinn continues, "then you wouldn't care who comforted her as long as she was happy. So what is it really Santana? Tip-toeing back into the closet?"

I can see that spark of fierceness radiate from Santana's eyes.

"Because I love her ok? It's no secret, so why do you carry on Quinn? Do you want to see me suffer?"

"Because you don't love her enough!" Quinn shouts.

It feels like it's happening in slow motion, I see Santana's hand fly out as I stand up in between them and feel the sting of Santana's slap across my cheek. When she realises what she has done her face pales.

"Britt britt, I'm so sorry." Santana says taking a step toward me. I shake my head to try and clear my mind, but in the distance I see him. I don't have to see his face to know what his expression is in that instant.

I flee the scene to my car, unlock it quickly and climb inside. I start up the engine and speed off into the distance without a second glance.

I just don't know what to think or what to do.

I just drive.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: Thank you all for your reviews - you managed to break my record of 7 reviews per chapter so you made this lil ol' heart of mine jump for joy. Right here's a warning - self harm and suicide are raised in this chapter but it's nothing gruesome. I had a really hard time writing this as it is emotionally exhausting to be so depressive all the time. The way I see it is - you have to hit rock bottom before you can start climbing back up again.

Also this * - means that there is a definition waiting at the bottom of the page for you.

Please review :)

Sincerely C x

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><p>I'm in the safety of my room and the silence of it seems dangerous to me. I'm rocking back and forth, trying to comfort myself, tell myself that what had just happened didn't really happen. I bite my nails but it brings no relief, no sense of reassurance - so I begin to chew on my bottom lip until I bleed. The taste of salt in my mouth isn't pleasant and it does nothing but agitate me further.<p>

I don't know how long I have been here for, repeating these same motions over and over again. But the sun has set now, and night has fallen. I haven't eaten I realise, but the fear that I have deep within my gut is suppressing the desire for food.

I get up and move across the room. I'm sitting on my window ledge now my leg tucked beneath me as I sit and watch the moon appear, its usual luminosity gives way to a dull blue colour embedded into the blackest of skies.

The puddles of water reflect the light back; the clear pools cast soft beams around in this dark night. Agitated, I get up and pace my room, finally settling back onto my bed.

My phone keeps buzzing in the corner and I know that it's Santana. I don't even have to speak to her to know that she will litter the conversation with apologies and regret. Her accidentally slapping me is the least of my worries.

I let my gaze fall all around the room, hoping for a distraction, hoping for something to take my mind away from just – everything. My eyes rest upon the blunt tip of my compass and a thought, however fleeting passes through my mind.

I don't want to be here anymore, I don't want to be in this perpetual state of anger and fear and suppression. But no matter how much I don't want to be here, I can't see another way out other than... I can't see myself carrying on like this. The idea of – death I suppose – becomes malignant now, consuming my thoughts.

I unfold my legs and cross the room to the compass. It may be blunt, but to me it could be a starting point and then a real attempt at ending all this pain would be soon.

With numb, trembling fingers I reach for it, the anticipation of what I'm about to do is leaving my limbs exceptionally weak, especially after the adrenaline rush of earlier. I feel light headed, dizzy almost with the relief of knowing what I will do tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I will kill myself. Tomorrow I will find peace.

My index finger brushes the metal lightly, and then with determination I grasp it tightly.

My door swings open and there stands the silhouette of Santana. As she steps quickly into the room I can see her face is glistening with tears.

"You should knock before you enter" I say with a calm and collected voice. It's a contrast to the way I feel inside.

She is taking in the scene before her, the compass point mere millimetres above the skin of my wrist. She moves into the stream of moonlight, the beams catching the wisps and waves of her hair. She looks so beautiful, but so broken and I feel a slight pull inside my chest.

"What are you doing?" Her voice is soft and warm and it falls over me like a gentle rain.

"About to do some math homework." I settle the compass back onto the side; she shouldn't be here to witness my downfall. I would much rather break completely in private.

"Don't lie to me Britt. Just please-" she begs, her eyes scrunch up closed, as if I'm physically hurting her, "please don't. Stop telling me what I want to hear. Tell me what's going on."

I bite back the words I want to say and instead turn away from her. I find no solace in any part of the room. I find desolation and destruction wherever I look. Memories and tokens of affection sit idly on shelves, gathering dust and serve as yet another reminder of a past life. A life that I barely recognise.

She steps forward, taking my face in her hands and forcing me to look at her.

"What have I done to you?" She whispers, tilting my head so that she can see my bruising better. She strokes my cheek with the pad of her thumb. She is so soft and warm, her movements are gentle as if she were touching a spider's web and fearful that she will break it; she pulls back minutely.

I feel her hesitance in her touch; she closes her eyes again so tightly as if afraid to see. Without a moment to think what she might do she leans in and kisses where she struck me.

I flinch away from the contact, it's just too much too soon and rather than being reassuring, the act sends cold shivers up and down my spine. I go swiftly to the other side of the bed, hunching over and in on myself.

"You haven't done anything San. I'm just beyond all of this. I warned you. I warned you so many times but you didn't listen. You shouldn't have come here tonight. You- you shouldn't come here anymore." I feel weak saying this to her, my voice lacks conviction.

She doesn't move. The tension is thick, almost smothering.

"Britt I slapped you – how can you say I haven't done anything to you?" She looks so upset and so delicate right now. The silver light makes her look serene and peaceful; it's a rare sight to behold. My ethereal beauty.

I need to protect her.

"San, I'm fine honestly I was just a little shocked that's all. So what did you and Quinn say about me?"

She looks a little embarrassed now.

"I know you probably heard Britt, so stop trying to change the subject. Plus I - I think Quinn likes you, she wanted to come here with me; but I told her that she couldn't. I told her that it should be just me and you."

She sits down opposite me and leans a little closer. She is trying to see through the darkness and into my eyes; she wants to be able to read me. I make sure that my face is a blank canvas, impenetrable to her observations; I don't want her to suffer too.

"I wanted to talk to you alone about... well all the things you aren't telling me. I know you're scared Britt, I know you aren't happy. I know that all these things that I have done, the cheating and arguing and now the hitting – I am the one who ruined you." She fiddles with her fingers for a moment, uncertain about herself. No-one ever gets to see this side.

"I want to piece you back together Britt. I'll be anything that you need me to be. Above everything else I am first and foremost your friend." She stretches out her hand and her fingertips hover above my knee, I can feel the warmth emanate from her skin. The sensation feels foreign but familiar and I look down from her face to her hand and then back again.

I don't know what to make of it.

"San, I really don't feel like talking tonight. But-" I see Santana bite her lip and it makes me nervous. "-I was wondering if you would just stay with me for awhile?" I speak in hushed tones, afraid that talking too loudly will shatter this illusion and that she will go back to being hard and callous. Or worse, that I'll become defiant and make her leave.

She lies down on the bed and I follow quickly. We both stare up at the stars stuck to my bedroom ceiling, and when I look out of the corner of my eye I swear I could see her smiling just a little. I roll over and see the metal tip of the compass glinting in the light and it almost looks inviting.

"Isn't it ironic that stars are at their brightest and most beautiful after they have burnt themselves out into oblivion?" I muse. I don't know if she heard me. I said it simply for a distraction.

I lie awake for awhile but she has drifted off to sleep, I don't want to wake her. Then I hear the gentle breaths puffed out from between her rouged lips, plump and warming to see. I feel slightly flushed so I push the covers off and wrap them more securely around Santana, to me she looked so cold.

I look at her unabashedly now, once I am certain she is asleep. Her breaths are deep and even, her eyelashes dark and long and a look of pure serenity is evident in her features. I feel torn between running and pulling her close, she is my own personal Azrael*. I reach out and trace the outline of her lips; my fingertips are barely a whisper away from touching her. This is the only way I can express a desire of any sort, without making contact and without anyone else aware other than myself.

Finally I let sleep consume me and for once it is a dreamless and easy slumber.

* * *

><p>I wake up the next morning and immediately I find her arms are wound tightly around my waist and her hands are tracing familiar patterns and routes along my spine. I feel the panic rise up and pound in my chest, this moment is too intimate, too close for me to stand it. I finally know what it feels like to feel fire, licking at my skin from her caresses and I hate myself for liking this torture. She is burning me, making me yearn for something that my mind and body aren't ready to consume and it hurts. If I could describe it it's like a dull ache, low and throbbing and flaring up right down to my toes.<p>

I back away quickly just beyond her reach and I panic when I see her hands fumbling for me amongst the sheets. I try to tiptoe away silently but my foot catches on something making a loud clunking noise and rousing Santana completely from her sleep.

"Where are you going?" She mumbles, still dazed with tiredness.

"Well, I've got to explain to my mom why you're here and then I'm going to get breakfast. Do you want anything?" She turns to face me completely, her hair mussed and her eyes still a little unfocussed.

"Your mom walked in this morning and saw me, so don't worry I explained everything ok?" I don't know how to feel about Santana talking to my mom, especially after her thinly veiled displeasure with Santana and evidently blaming her for the new me. Regardless, I nod my head and let a small smile etch upon my lips.

"Good. I'll have an orange juice please." With that I go downstairs, wondering why I can't hear the familiar clink of pots and pans or the quiet sound of my dad's newspaper rustling with the turn of every page.

Instead I'm met with the image of Steph standing in her pyjamas looking sorry for herself.

"So..." she says whilst rubbing her forehead. "I hear Santana stayed here overnight so does that mean you two are back together?" I go to answer but then her face twists in confusion. "Bri, why do you have a bruise?" I remember all of a sudden the current condition of my face.

"It, er, it was all by accident."

"Who did it to you?" I shift from foot to the other nervously as Steph suddenly looks more alert.

"It doesn't matter." I say, but she has stepped closer.

"Tell me who."

"Santana." Before I had even finished the name, Steph was hurtling up the stairs. The next thing I hear is my bedroom door crashing open from upstairs. I felt cold, the little warmth I had inside earlier had gone.

* * *

><p>*Archangel Azrael means "Whom God helps," he separates the soul from the body and provides comfort to those on the verge of death.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters. **

**A/N: **Hey, thank you again for the reviews – seriously made my day. Quickly wanted to say I have amended part of chapter 9, well, I have slid in an extra paragraph. I was in two minds about putting it in but thought things might make a little more sense. All I'll say is this – don't jump to conclusions/ make up your minds just yet.

This chapter can be considered a bit of a filler chapter, just wanted to have some gratuitous Brittana talking time. I'm working on the next chapter – currently up to 4,000 words and counting. It's going to take me a little while so please bear with me.

Song recommendation: **Glass Vase Cello Case** by **Tattle Tale**.

FF recommendation:** Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas** by **LyricallyObsessed33**. Great fluff fic to get you in the mood for Christmas!

Sincerely C x

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><p>I hear Steph shouting, the sound reverberates throughout the house, bouncing off of walls and echoing down to me. But I feel trapped, unable to move from where I stand and go to Santana's aid.<p>

The sound of my bedroom door slamming and five seconds later my sister speeds on past. Steph looks furious. Just for good measure she bangs the front door as she leaves making it rattle slightly in its frame. With a screech of her car tyres she pulls away and the house is left in tranquillity.

Silent.

Soft feet pad down the stairs but when I look up to see Santana's face she is scowling. With her eyebrows dipped and her mouth tight - looking as if she had a taste of something sour - she quickly changes her expression of her anger into something neutral.

"Listen," she says softly as if pre-empting another tirade. "Quinn is having a house party tonight; her mom is out on some kind of cruise so I – ugh, do you want to come?"

I hadn't been expecting that, I was waiting for her to talk about what had just happened. Sometimes she leaves me so confused and I wonder exactly what it is that goes through her mind. However, I shake my head no; I have a plan for tonight.

"It's the weekend Britt Britt, come on? For me?" She inches closer to me; her eyes are wide and open.

I look at her face, staring intently committing every aspect to memory. I resolve right here and now that I will do this last thing for her. I will spend these few hours with her before I commit myself completely to my goal.

"Fine." I huff out, crossing my arms across my chest. She smiles minutely at me blissfully unaware that anything is amiss.

"Great I'll pick you up at 9 ok?"

"Is it ok if I drive instead?" I ask. The old me would've said ok, I would've gone to a party gotten drunk then gone back to Santana's house and have slow, drunken sex in her bed. But this wasn't the old me that she was dealing with.

"Sure." She says sceptically. Then as an afterthought she makes me pinky promise.

I want to pull her soft hand to my lips and place a kiss there, but I don't, I stifle the urge to.

* * *

><p>It's 9:30pm and Santana had taken far too long to get ready for a drunken party just at someone's house. But when she finally walks out, she looks... she looks pretty, I don't tell her that though. Instead I say that we are running late.<p>

The roads that lie before me look like silver ribbons, set in odd shapes, twisting and looping to fit the scenery and disappearing into the horizon. There's no one on the road, it's quiet and all that can be heard is the steady rumbling of the car engine and Santana's heavy breaths.

This night, the scenery, the abandonment - it all antagonised a deeply suppressed fear. But I move and breathe and speak, because I know I'll be at peace soon. I feel sated and rested.

I glance out of the corner of my eye at Santana, storing away this image for later. Her dark hair slightly mussed by the cool winter's breeze. Her lips are shining looking moist and seductive; every now and again she bites lightly on her bottom lip. Her eyes are so dark I can barely see but I imagine them. Santana's eyes have always been the gateway to her emotions. Sure when she cried you would see tears and if she was fearful they would widen. But what most people couldn't do was see her upset before the tears, that gradual build up or sorrow that showed itself so plainly and yet, so many people dismissed it.

Her eyes are the most beautiful part about her.

Her shoulders are bare, the skin so soft and inviting but I don't touch, I grip the steering wheel tighter.

"Are you ok?" I ask, her breathing is erratic and I can tell she is trying her hardest not to look at me.

"I'm fine." Her tone is icy. A sliver of fear slides down my back uncomfortably making me squirm. I wonder if he hurt her. I take another look at her and there are no bruises unlike when it had been me, but she still seems contemplative.

"San you're not fine what is it? Has someone hurt you?" My voice goes higher and higher as scenario after scenario floods my thoughts.

"No? No one has hurt me." There is a beat of silence. "Can I ask you something?" She still won't look at me and instead settles her gaze on her lap.

I nod reluctantly and she clears her throat.

"What did you do to your hands? Quinn wouldn't tell me." Again, she catches me off guard.

"I-" She turns to face me and the words I want to say die on the tip of my tongue. "Quinn doesn't know what happened either she's teasing you."

"So what did you do?" She prompts.

I feel torn between telling the truth and lying. But the way she is looking at me, the way she cares about me and only me, my mind is already made up.

"I was upset and I smashed up the bathroom mirror and then I started punching it. To be honest San I didn't feel a thing." She doesn't seem shocked by the news just a little sad.

"Why were you upset?" She is prodding at a tender subject, treading tentatively on what she hopes are safe ground.

"I think you know the answer to that already." I make sure my tone is light, but it is a warning.

"Tell me?" She dips her head lower examines her fingers for a moment and then reaches over the console to touch my arm.

"Please trust me" she looks so pained and I don't know what to do.

I let out a sigh. I won't lie to her.

"It was because of you San. I heard you and Puck were going out and I got angry and I felt cheated. I needed you and you weren't there for me." I pull over and park the car. We haven't reached Quinn's house yet but this is not going to be a short conversation.

"I was there for you when you were coming to terms with your sexuality, I kept all of your secrets and even when you didn't want to talk I still sat with you. Hugged you. Kissed you." She stares directly into my eyes as if she is prepared for whatever verbal onslaught I am about to give her.

"I felt like, unless I wasn't the old me; you know, the dancing, ditzy blonde who doesn't have two brain cells to rub together to generate a singular thought – that you wouldn't be happy. Sure we both knew that I played it up just for kicks, but I know you want me like that. You have always been the strong one; I have been the reasonable one. But that isn't me. You abandoned me."

She has taken my hands into her own, not moving them but examining the bandages wrapped around my knuckles. She is probably trying to figure out just how bad the damage is.

"Keep talking" she whispers.

"I have nothing else to say." She shakes her head slightly; her fingertips smooth over my knuckles as she begins to undo the bandages. I snatch my hands away trying desperately to re-tie them.

"Please?" She says. I said to myself that within these few hours I would give her what she desired. So I hold my hands back out. Her touch is as gentle and soft as feathers, when she sees the state of my knuckles she swallows hard.

"This was because of me?" Now would be the time to tell her.

"N-" Just tell her.

"I...I..." Tell her.

"Yes it is." I grow frustrated because I'm not in control anymore. I am not the ruler of my own actions. I'm so angry at myself, but I think Santana thinks it is directed at her. She let's go quickly and makes sure she is on her side of the centre console.

"Sorry" I say meekly trying to make her not feel bad or hurt.

"Do you want to hear what I have to say?" I look at her outline, so small and vulnerable the passenger seat looks like it is engulfing her. Swallowing her whole.

"Go ahead."

I sit quietly waiting for her.

"I'm not going to justify my cheating," I want to interject because that is clearly what she is about to do.

"-but we make mistakes. You know me. You know I fuck up all the time no matter how hard I try not to. Not that I'm saying you should accept me fucking up all the time. I mean you get me right? It's just - it's all coming out wrong. Look, I love you. I know I haven't been showing it but, I want to start. Can we start over please? I'll end it with Puck and you'll tell me exactly what is on your mind and then we can go back to normal."

I so badly want to go back to normal right now; but Santana is asking the impossible of me and she doesn't even know it.

My heart beat picks up. I swallow hard and feel my hands shake slightly.

I turn around in my seat to face her. My mouth has gone dry and right now I'm wishing for a bottle of water.

"San. I want to tell you something. I have to tell you something about me."

Her breathing hitches as my own breaths have become shallow and weak. My head feels light, as if on the verge of spinning. The moment feels oddly surreal, and I'm transfixed by her.

I will tell her my secret but I'm still sticking with my decision for tonight. I have gone beyond that point of being saved and there is only one way I know how to stop it. To quit this feeling of isolation and emptiness.

"It's the reason for why I am the way I am. I've practiced saying it so many times by myself - about how I would tell you. It's so difficult and I don't want you to be mad at me. It wasn't my fault."

I feel the terror rise up, the overwhelming uncertainty of how she is going to react. The courage I had a moment ago is quickly dissipating.

"San, look at me." My voice is shaky. When she looks up I see the fear there, she is scared about whatever my secret is – I wonder quickly what she thinks it is. If what she is imagining can actually be worse than the reality of it.

"San..."


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: This is my longest chapter to date. I was going to write more but I thought it best to end it when I did. Also 9 reviews for my last chapter? You guys made me really happy – so happy that I stayed up until 1:43 a.m sorting this chapter out because I wanted to post it up Christmas Eve. I'm pretty sure this is why I need a beta, as I just re-read it a billion times and then when I post it up I notice more mistakes.

**Songs used/ referred to in this ff: Needle In The Hay **by **Elliott Smith**,

**Warm Whispers **by **Missy Higgins**,

**Video Games **by **Lana Del Rey**,

**There For You** by **Flyleaf**.

So Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year! Please leave a review – they are always appreciated.

Sincerely C x

* * *

><p>"... I didn't know if I was capable of loving you. One moment I did, then the next moment I didn't." I couldn't believe the lie that was coming out of my mouth. My courage had gone; the apprehension of telling her was too much.<p>

"I still love you San. But I don't know if I am able to at the moment." She knows I'm lying. I watch as her mouth opens and closes a couple of times.

"Are you sure that's what you wanted to say Britt?" Her eyes are searching mine in the dark. She knows, but she isn't calling me out on it.

"Yeah, that's all."

"Britt, you know you can talk to me right? I'm alwa-" I cut her off by revving the engine and pulling away from the curb.

I switch the radio on to try to dilute the silence, but the melancholy of Elliott Smith's voice resonates with the darkness within me so I turn the dial again to snap the sound off.

She eyes me curiously, folding her hands in her lap and biting her lip.

"You will tell me the real reason eventually won't you?" She breaks the silence. The words hang heavily in the air between us. She then stares out of the passenger window when I don't respond right away.

"Maybe." I say and we plunge back into being quiet.

Quinn's road is packed with cars and there are very few spaces left. This party will probably get broken up within the hour, as the curtains are twitching with curious and furious neighbours watching the youths stumble drunkenly in and out of her house.

Before I have even stopped the car completely Santana has unbuckled her seatbelt and is already opening up the driver's door. I unbuckle my seatbelt as she offers her hand -I smile a little. I take her hand and she pulls me from the car.

I look all around and see familiar and unfamiliar faces. Some people are walking away down the road hand in hand; others are sharing passionate kisses beneath the Buckeye tree. I can see silhouettes stumbling around just beyond the windows and then there's me and Santana surveying this chaotic scene.

"Do you want to go in?" She speaks so softly I almost didn't hear her. When I don't respond she wraps her hand around my clenched fist, stroking soothing circles onto the back of my hand. Eventually I unfurl my fingers as she threads her fingers through mine. This is the first symbol of affection that we have shared in a long time.

"Let's go" she murmurs, she pulls at me gently and I follow.

The front door is on a latch so we let ourselves in and immediately I feel overwhelmed by the noise and the stench of alcohol.

We make our way to the kitchen and I try to find Quinn but I can't see her. The crowd is too thick with bodies swaying and gyrating to the music. We do however see Puck standing in the corner, a red cup in hand taking large gulps of whatever is inside it.

Santana sees him the same time that I do, she stiffens slightly as if seeing a ghost and then turns to face me.

"I'm going to go sort this out now ok Britt?" My pulse quickens minutely, but I know she'll be ok. Still I wonder how he'll take it, especially after his threat the other day. I'm fearful of the repercussions.

I watch her walk away, taking quick steps towards him. As Puck sees her he smiles, but that same glow fades quickly, his expression turning into a frown. I see her gesture towards the glass doors that lead out into the garden, he nods and they disappear back out into the night.

I'm standing alone now, watching girls making out with each other in front of crowds of guys, another girl up on the coffee table stripping to a song I don't recognise. It hits close to home as I realise that used to be me. I used to be "that girl" the stripper drunk, the one who never said no, the one who was up for anything, anytime. But then I grew up. I was forced to grow up.

A short bob of blonde hair catches my eye and I realise its Quinn.

Quinn who is currently rubbing up against Sam.

Sam wearing a look that I recognise all too well. I remembered the way he looked at me before when Santana had slapped me by accident. A slight smile tugging at his lips.

It feels as if ice is running through my veins and my mind switches off. I can't break down here, not now.

From the way she is swaying and having to steady herself by holding onto him I can tell she is drunk. I'm looking a little more closely as his hand trails up to her neck and to the back of her head forcing her to lean in slightly the action seems vicious and predatory. He's commanding her, being rough and aggressive with her. It is all too familiar. He says something in her ear and I can't tell if she is ok.

He grabs her hand and pulls her roughly away, almost out of sight.

Before I know it, my feet are propelling me forwards, pushing my way through a drunken crowd of guys whooping and hollering at another girl stripping. I use all the force that I can, moving bodies out of my path.

I push and I push, just in time to see him lead her out of the front door. I run outside, the cold air hitting me unexpectedly. I can't tell if it's the weather or the panic that is knocking breath after breath from my lungs but it is leaving me gasping.

I can hear what he is saying now, ringing out crystal clear.

"Come on Quinn. I just want to get to know you better that is all." I shudder at the tone of voice, bringing back memories. Memories that I have tried so hard to suppress these past few months.

"Quinn" I shout from across the lawn. She turns to look at me and I can't quite read her expression. But I can see him scowl, then smooth out his expression.

"Quinn" I repeat myself, his eyes boring into me. "Come here I need to talk to you." The calmness of my voice contrasts the sickness and urgency that has settled in my stomach.

"She's fine with me Brittany." His tone is biting as he tugs on her hand sharply. Her head lolls from me to him then back to me.

"Britty," she slurs, "he wants to talk to me about some private stuff. I'm ok. I'll see you in there."

His satisfied smile spurs me into action. It's as if he is mocking me with just his eyes.

"Let go Sam," I say, restraining myself from sprinting towards them and pulling her away. I can't take him on. I couldn't before and I wouldn't be able to now.

"She told you and I told you. She is fine with me Brittany." I can sense it in his tone now. Now that there is someone else confronting him he is less sure of himself. He tugs on her hand once more.

"Quinn. Don't go anywhere with him." Her eyes snap to mine.

"Britty, I know what I'm doing. Quit being so protective all the time. You're not my mother." I ignore the mocking tone she is using.

"Quinn you don't know what you're doing. I'm not letting you go anywhere with him." I'm standing right by them now and I can hear my pulse thudding. The adrenaline is kicking in.

"Why shouldn't I? He wants to talk about Finn. Finn, he, he doesn't want me. Her - he chose _her_ Britty over me." She is still swaying on her feet.

"Let go – now Sam." I ignore her question, but she keeps prodding.

"Why should he?"

"Because-" His eyes widen minutely, but then he is back to cool and placid.

"Because..." Quinn is putting all of her focus on me now, scrunching up her eyes.

"He raped me."

It's as if someone freeze framed this moment. He loosens his grip from her wrist and her arm drops and swings by her side.

The cold air is no longer felt, the sorrow, the pain the secrecy is all gone in this moment.

The pent up frustration and anger that was a mere ember before is now fire. I feel hot.

"Sam raped me Quinn." I say it with conviction this time, but she is motionless.

"If this is a joke Britty it's not very funny." She says. He is strangely composed, standing back and waiting to be addressed.

I shake my head mournfully. "It's not a joke he did it. He's the reason I am the way I am."

He lets out a humourless laugh. "Britt, don't be stupid. Why would I do that?" I stare at him in disbelief. He is so confident and so collected I almost lose faith in myself. But he is playing a game. Sam Evans is pretending to be sure of himself.

"I said no Sam. I said no a thousand times over but you still did it didn't you?" Quinn suddenly seems sober, her face paling slightly under the moonlight. I can see the doubt though and that hurts. She is weighing up the options. Sweet, innocent Sam so dumbfounded by my accusation and me, the party girl who never says no, who is always up for sex with anyone who comes her way.

"Brittany," she says sternly, "tell me you're joking." I shake my head and so she turns to Sam.

"Sam is it true?" I feel betrayed that she can't seem to take my word alone.

"Of course it isn't. Honestly Quinn I don't know what she is talking about." His attention is all on her. There's another beat of silence.

"There you are. Britt I've been looking everywhere for you." Santana's voice is light and syrupy and right now I wished I had told her sooner. I wished that this wouldn't be the moment when she would find out.

The tension was thick and smothering as me and Sam held a staring contest. He wasn't going to win this time, he had been haunting me every step since that night. I wasn't backing down.

"What's going on?" Santana looks confused, trying to read each one of our expressions.

"Brittany has accused Sam of raping her." Quinn's voice is lifeless, dead to the core. Just like me.

"Britt?" Santana's voice is shaking as she calls to me, but I'm still staring at him, I see him begin to crack.

"Britt look at me." I reluctantly break my stare to look at her. I see the darkness swell, the light inside of her is extinguished.

"Britt are you? Did he?" All I have to do is nod once. That's all it takes.

Santana launches herself at him, knocking him to the floor and taking him by surprise.

"You." She just repeats herself over and over as she scratches him, punches him until he bleeds. He tries to grab her hands but she is too quick for him.

I wrap my arms around her waist and drag her away from him.

"You fucking bastard. I will kill you." She practically spits the words at him as he scrambles to his feet.

"San shh," I say, as a group of people are beginning to walk over to watch what is happening. "San shh, please, for me. Shh." But she is still struggling against my arms, albeit a bit weaker than before. He is running away now, but not before he turns around and shouts over his shoulder.

"You're a fucking liar Brittany. You wanted it just as much as I did." His words are strong, but his composed facade has ebbed away now, I can almost taste his fear. Still, what he says strikes something in me, it's something akin to regret.

Quinn is still standing wide eyed, trying to fathom what had transpired. I know she still doubts me, ever so slightly.

I feel a drop of water hit my arm. "San?" But I'm greeted with a heaving sob. "San, please don't cry." She takes in a shuddering breath.

"San, please. Everything will be ok. You know now. You know my secret." Well, she knows part of it. I let her go and she stands with her back to me. When she eventually turns to face me her eyes are a little red.

"Quinn, I think San and I are going to go. Probably best if you kick people out? Call it a night?" Santana has gone eerily calm and it's unnerving.

"Yeah I think you're right."

"Do you have anyone who could stay with you?" After all I don't want her to be by herself. I don't know if she will go into shock or what. Just, I don't want her left alone.

"Do you think Mike, Tina or Mercedes will stay with me?"

"I think all three of them will stay if you ask them." I don't know how but I manage a small smile just for her. With that she hurries back inside, leaving us in silence.

I felt liberated now as if even having the potential to talk about it freed me in some way. But these kinds of emotions are always fleeting and accompanied by self loathing shortly afterwards. I know that the next time I am left alone those ghostly fingers would come back – pinning my wrists down time and time again. It's something that I realise I will be living with for the rest of my life, although I remember my plans for tonight.

But glancing at her, seeing the lost look in her eyes I feel the need to comfort her first.

"San?" My voice is hoarse as I realise she hasn't spoken to me directly since hitting Sam. "Let's go San? Back to mine or yours?"

"Mine" she says, her voice a monotone as she walks back over to my car. I slide in; I can't stand the quiet anymore it's like a weight crushing me; so I put a CD in, the gentle introduction leads into a painfully sweet voice. The music flows so beautifully and I am willingly engulfed by the lyrics. This song had always reminded me of Santana back when I could be romantic – when I was capable of feeling emotions that were stable and consistent.

The second song is equally as soothing, the road lights flash strips of orange through my car windows. I look out of the corner of my eye at her and she seems to have warmth to her, a soft, hazy glow that only she can possess. I focus back on the road at hand and for the first time in awhile I don't feel so alone.

When we arrive at Santana's house she leaps up from her seat and rushes around to my side to open the door. I step out and onto the sidewalk, before I take another step I hold out my hand for her to take.

"San, can we just stay here for a second?" She scrunches up her eyebrows.

"Why? It's cold and we have – things – that we need to talk about." I gesture up to the night sky.

"I haven't seen the stars this bright for a long time." She is so still that I look at her to see if she heard, but her face is tilted towards the sky, her mouth is open her breaths curling out into the winter air.

"Have I ever told you what my mom used to say to me when I was little?"

"No" she says. I tighten my hand around hers as we continue to look up.

"My mom used to say that stars were angels; that there are so many stars because every single person on this earth needed their own angel. She said that if you asked them they would keep you safe and make your wishes come true."

I feel her shift closer to me.

"Did you – did you ask when it happened?"

"Yes I did," I lick my lips to try and moisten them in this cold dry air. "Don't get me wrong, I know it's not true. I stopped believing that when I was 12. But it brought me comfort. I had tried to fight back but I couldn't, that was the only thing left I could do."

Santana let's go of my hand and goes to hug me, but I recoil. I am reliving those moments and I am unclean, I don't want her to touch me anymore than holding my hand. She notices but she doesn't comment on it.

"Let's go inside and talk ok? It's cold and I don't want you to get sick." I look up once more, sending up a silent wish – a wish that is just for me. I follow her up to the door and I remember the last time I had been here.

I had been an observer from the lawn to Santana and Puck. I steadied my nerves and quelled the ache in my stomach. She fumbles with her keys trying to find the right one in the darkness. Eventually she does and the door swings open into the pitch black. She disappears inside and within moments the lights flicker on.

She is so incredibly tense. "Do you want a drink? Or do you want to go upstairs first?" Under any other circumstance I would've laughed and probably remarked back. But this thing that is happening right now. This moment is so loaded with anxiety.

"I'm fine, let's just go to your room." She leads the way up the stairs, almost as if I would've forgotten. But I could never forget.

When I entered her room I immediately noticed some changes. The toys and ornaments that I had thrown from my window before now sat in a corner, broken and dirtied with the exception of my duck that sits back on my shelf in my room. She follows my stare and looks embarrassed.

"I was going to return them to you, I just didn't know when." Santana looks flushed, I feel my own face get warm in return.

I feel awkward standing here, mainly because I am a stranger in this room now and I shouldn't presume anything.

"Sit down on my bed Britt. I'm just going to get changed. You can borrow any clothes you want ok? You know where they are." With that she scoops up her sweat pants and a t-shirt, giving me one last look over her shoulder she departs but not before asking if I'll be ok.

I take a closer look at her room. Where the walls were once solidly black, she now has silver patterns breaking it up so it appears less intimidating. I look a little closer and realise that it is actually a scene a silver moon illuminating the tops of clouds. I wonder when she had created this. The black and chrome furniture is still the same, except the bed has been moved to directly beneath the clouds. I can't stare for too long as its making me feel melancholy.

I reacquaint myself with the whereabouts of Santana's clothes. In particular, the burgundy Harvard t-shirt and Yale sweatpants I would always wear them whenever I would stay over. They were gifts that San's parents had brought back from New York and Connecticut; she had scoffed at them at the time as she felt it was just another way for her parents to pressure her. I change into the clothes quickly; I'm just pulling the top down as Santana walks through the door.

I was trying to postpone this because I didn't want her to judge me when I told her the whole story.

"Britt you can start talking when you're ready ok?" But she is staring at me expectantly – it's really unnerving, I'd imagine this is what it felt like being interrogated.

"I- I need you to turn around San. I find it difficult to speak freely unless I imagine I'm alone." She raises her eyebrow but climbs onto the bed her back to me. I follow suit and we're sitting back to back.

I feel an unpleasant tingle work its way down my chest then back up my throat. I exhale to try and calm myself but I shudder instead.

"So we started arguing about you kissing that girl and I stormed out. I was furious with you, I felt so betrayed. I had to start walking home because you had driven that night. I was walking for awhile, I can't remember for how long. I guess it doesn't even matter."

I take in another deep lungful of air to steady myself.

"Puck pulls up in Sam's car. He's driving and Sam is drinking in the passenger seat. They ask me if I need a lift and I say ok. Puck asked me why I was walking around at this time of night and I told him I had had a crap night. He asked me if I wanted some drink and I said yes."

I'm getting lost in the memory and I have to pull myself back to the present. It's as if I'm there watching the events unfold knowing what is about to happen but not being able to stop it.

"Puck drives a little while longer and then we pull up somewhere. I just remember seeing a lot of trees. We got out of the car and started passing bottles around. I felt so warm and my mind was fuzzy. Sam began to flirt with me, doing stupid impressions to try and make me laugh. Puck was laughing too, now that I think about it he was drunk and driving but at the time I didn't give it a second thought. All I could think about was how I could upset you the way you had upset me."

My heart begins to beat a little faster, my mouth goes dry.

"San, can I have a glass of water please?" She is already off the bed and hurrying out of the door. I hold my head in my hands dreading telling her. I would be admitting that part of this was my fault - I had done wrong as well.

I rub my face to try and relieve the tension but it doesn't work. I open my eyes when I hear her drawing closer, her arm is outstretched with the glass of water.

"Thanks" I mumble, I take the water gratefully taking large gulps but it does nothing to soothe the dryness of my mouth.

"So, I wanted to hurt you. So I kissed Sam. I kissed him for awhile, because at the time it made sense. After all I was drunk and you had been drunk when you kissed the girl. His kisses were becoming rough and his hands were just," I swallow down the lump in my throat. "He was trying to touch me everywhere. I told him to stop, I did but he didn't listen. I started to struggle but he was so strong San. I asked Puck to help but he just got up and walked away. He abandoned me knowing what was probably going to happen."

I look down at my wrists as if I would be able to see the red imprints of Sam's fingers lingering there.

"I told him no, that I didn't want to. But he said that I always did, I just needed persuading. He said he wanted to know what all the fuss was about being with me." Santana doesn't say a word, but she twists her arm so her hand is out to the side palm up. She knows I'm finding it difficult, I take her hand gratefully.

"He said I moved too much, but I was struggling against him. He pinned my wrists down and that's when I knew. I knew it was all over San. I gave up and I- I" I was trying to fend off my tears until I was done telling her but I couldn't. It felt as if I was back there again.

"I made my wish to my star, to keep me safe, to stop this from happening but nothing happened. No one could save me. I remember feeling cold and sore I wanted to be numb - to not feel but I couldn't, but at the same time I couldn't cry. It was such a weird feeling San. I didn't watch him leave, I just heard him stumble. I don't remember how long I had taken getting home I just walked. The sun began to show as I unlocked the front door and crept up the stairs. I went straight into the bathroom and turned on the shower."

Santana grips my hand a little tighter.

"I wanted to be clean. I wanted to wash him off of my skin, but what he had done ran a little deeper than skin and bone. I kept scrubbing as if it would get rid of him but I couldn't. It was a few hours later when I noticed the bruises starting to appear. So I wore the baggy clothes, the sweatpants and long sleeves. My mom just thought we had had an argument and left me alone. I didn't want to tell her because I was partially to blame. I led him on."

"Stop Britt." I jumped a little as I had almost forgotten she was here listening.

"Britt none of this is your fault." She let's go of my hand, I can feel her turn around, but I don't want to see the look in her eyes.

She engulfs me in a hug from behind and murmurs that it's not my fault over and over again. I feel weak and exhausted.

"So-" she says after awhile of rocking me. "Puck didn't do anything? Even though he was there and heard you say no?" I nod my head slowly.

"He... well he turned up at my house and my mom let him in. He came into my room and told me to not make a sound. I asked him why he didn't help me. That Sam had raped me, but he told me I had gotten it wrong. I said I was going to call the police, I think he panicked. He started saying about his record and how he'd been drinking. He wasn't making any sense. But when I said again that I didn't care that I was going to tell the police, he covered my mouth with his hand smothering my words. He pressed me against the wall so hard – leaving more bruises across my shoulder blades - saying that it would be a big mistake. That no one would believe someone as slutty as me."

I could feel Santana shaking now. Her fury had been pent up until now.

"We are calling the police Britt. They can't get away with this." I move away from her and fold in on myself.

"I'm not going to. It's too late now. Too much time has gone by. There's no point. When it comes down to it who do you think they are going to believe? Sam and Puck who are ready to back each other up? Or me with my reputation?"

I can see she is no longer listening and instead, calculating different ways of exacting revenge.

"They need to be punished Britt. If the law doesn't come through for you, I will. I'll give them a sense of justice." Her tone is biting and her face has distorted into a mask of malice.

"Why aren't you listening San? I have told you and now you're trying to force me to tell more people. You don't get it. I was at fault here. Me. I'm putting it behind me, but if I tell the police I'll be going through it all again."

"But you saw what almost happened tonight! Britt he had almost taken Quinn. What about other girls? Other girls vulnerable like you who are susceptible to him and his strength? You need to."

I get up from the bed, shaking my head. I start to pick up my clothes and my keys to my car.

"Where are you going?" She sounds panicked as I head for the door.

"Britt! Come back!" I run down the stairs and out of the front door, Santana is close at my heels but not quite fast enough. I'm already locked safely in my car, but she runs out in front and then stands there her hands resting on the hood.

"Get out of the way!" I shout but she doesn't move. Instead, she shouts back at me to get out of the car.

I tell her that I'm going to call Steph if she doesn't move. She reluctantly moves. As I pull away I look in my rear-view mirror to see her running inside her house. I press my foot on the gas to get me home quicker.

I can't cope and Lacey Sturm's voice seems almost mocking belting out there for you from the CD. I grit my teeth and swallow down my sudden anger.

I will get home and fulfil my plan tonight. I was only two minutes away, so whatever Santana was planning on doing wouldn't prevent me from carrying it out.

I had done as I had promised myself. I told her, I was honest with her.

Now was my time to finally rest.


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: Why is this chapter so short and yet I've had all that time to write it? Well, I've actually been in such a dark place I haven't even been able to write. Considering writing is normally my outlet for dark emotions that really confounded me. Also, some pretty stuff has been happening recently. So please accept my apology for being totally lame!

Please review. Thank you.

**Song used in this ff: The Sound of Silence **by **Simon and Garfunkel**.

Sincerely C x

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><p>Have you ever had that feeling that you're not quite right?<p>

That the conversations happening around you leave you on the outside looking in?

I've had that feeling so many times. It's as if time slows and your senses all heighten.

I've seen them laughing about the latest conquest or reminiscing over how much they had drunk the night before and what they had done as a result of being inebriated. Then there's me, quiet at the table and I'm annoyed that they didn't notice that I hadn't uttered a word.

I wanted them to ask.

Santana and Quinn didn't bother pushing hard enough to ask. The rest of them just wanted to believe whatever they deduced. I'm a victim of their wants and desires.

It's thoughts like this that tell me I won't be missed and that no-one will notice. My hands grip the steering wheel tighter and I can feel the healing skin across my knuckles tear slightly. It doesn't matter now.

I keep driving and the previously short journey of two minutes feels long and arduous. I just want to get there. I press my foot a little harder on the gas making my car lurch forward and push me closer to home. I feel like I'm being smothered from the inside by my own thoughts. I am stifling myself, my mind is my greatest enemy replaying memory after memory like a traitor to the rest of my body, lacerating and inflicting this self hatred. I was coiled so tightly like a spring, I could feel my muscles in my back twitch – I hadn't felt relief in awhile. They ache and yearn for some respite, so I pull my shoulders back and hear a satisfying click. The relief is brief.

My house appears and I halt my car sharply. I fling the door open and sprint across the lawn, taking long strides and seeing the grass blur beneath my feet. I feel like I'm flying. I'm giddy and exhilarated as I turn my key in the door and run up the stairs. I gather my items from the draw in my room; my hands are clumsy as I fumble with bottles. Some are drugs others contain alcohol. My i-pod is clutched tightly to my chest a playlist carefully crafted beforehand. This playlist would be the note that I am not leaving. It would be my way of showing the pain and sorrow in my heart. It would be a way of telling my family and Santana how much I love them.

I go briskly into the bathroom, clicking on a dim light and sliding shut the lock on the door. I don't know where my parents are right now but its better this way, with no interruptions. Except, I think I heard Steph rattling around in her own bedroom.

I draw a shaky breath in and press my heated face to the mirror. I don't bother to ponder my reflection anymore; I won't find anymore answers here, or any further sense of peace.

With trembling fingers I reach for the first bottle. Vodka. I don't even look at the label as I twist the top off and take a long pull of the drink.

I take a deep breath as my throat begins to tingle then burn – like flames licking up from my stomach. I'm impatient to feel the numbing effects of the vodka, so I gulp more of it until I can't breathe anymore, my lungs tightening and I feel a twist in my chest.

I unscrew a couple of pill bottles, and tip the contents of one of them into the palm of my hand. Tiny, little white pills rest so snugly there and I marvel at the simplicity of it all. Now I have this moment, wondering am I really doing this.

This is the final line to cross and once I start there will be no coming back from it. A bead of sweat slips down from my hairline down the nape of my neck, I feel hot and flushed. My entire body feels like it is made from air, light and inconsistent. But my arms feel heavy as if carved from stone.

I take a single pill between my forefinger and thumb, toying with the medication before I bring it up to my mouth and slip it past my lips to rest on my tongue. I screw my eyes shut as I dry swallow the tablet. I pause a moment to bring the vodka back up to my mouth and drink as much as I possibly can from the bottle. I wonder how long it will take to feel the effects.

I press another pill to the parting of my lips and close my eyes in anticipation.

"OPEN THIS DOOR NOW!" Santana's voice is so loud and sudden it makes me jump and lose some of the tablets down the sink. I turn around and glare at the door. She begins hitting it over and over again.

"Santana calm the fuck down will you-" I can barely hear Steph's voice over Santana but eventually the thumps stopped. I remain silent and listening.

"Britt, just come and open the door. We want to talk to you." Steph's voice exudes calmness, but I could hear the edge to it. That sliver of worry she has that is ever present now when regarding me. I briefly wonder if Santana told her what had happened tonight, but if she had I'm sure Steph would've been a little more urgent.

"Britt, honey – open the door."

"Fuck this. OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR BRITTANY NOW!" The door is starting to shake in its frame with Santana pounding it.

"You're not helping" Steph says clearly frustrated.

"You're not getting anywhere." Santana retorts back sharply.

"Don't you dare start Santana. You were the one who fucked everything up and now you've upset her again. Don't pretend that you care about anyone else because you don't. You care about one person and that is yourself." It went eerily quiet outside and I could almost sense the indecision.

I poured more pills out into my hand and loaded them into my mouth eagerly. I didn't want to hear anymore, I didn't want to feel. I was beginning to go numb.

"You don't have a clue _Steph_ you're hardly here anyway. You don't know shit about your own sister."

"Get out." Steph's voice rings clear and true. "Get. Out. Santana. If you know what is good for you, you will leave."

"I can't do that." I can see in my mind's eye the clench of her jaw and a steely stare showing her resilience against being told what to do. I knew she was probably doing it right this second. My vision is blurring and my depth perception is off. I reach my hand out a couple of times before I grab the vodka, Ipod and more pills. I slide my back down the wall, the sudden coldness of the brick is shocking, like rubbing after sun onto sunburn. It was getting harder to breathe.

"She's not going to come out whilst your here. So go." I won't be coming out at all; I smile lazily to no-one.

"Listen it's got nothing to do with me hurting her. Just take my word for it. But we need to get this door open and quickly." Santana sounds desperate.

My heart is beating so quickly. It is practically convulsing, waiting to burst forth from beneath my skin. It's uncomfortable but not painful.

"No. You know something. If you think it's relevant tell me now." Steph sounds angry now.

"She's not in a good way. She's, well, she's worse than we originally thought." The words trail away, becoming soft, barely a whisper from the two's mouths.

I think the bathroom is tilting; it looks like it is sliding to the right. It's moving, I know it is.

I put my earphones in and click on my playlist.

The thudding on the door picks up, but I can't move to turn up the volume. My eyes are getting heavy; all I want to do is sleep. With a weak hand I bring the vodka back to my lips and take one last mouthful. I place it as carefully as possible back on the floor.

I lie down and hear my spine click. I don't feel as if I'm here anymore, instead, I'm floating away. I'm flying so high right now and yet feel so weighed down.

My heart feels slow. It's, stuttering in my chest, it's, I don't know. It's just slow. There's a pain in my chest, it's like a red hot poker has been inserted beneath my skin in replacement of my heart; it's burning from the inside out. I want to open my eyes again, but I can't.

I panic as I realise what I have done, but there's no turning back now. I can't stop this. Do I want this? I did, I do. I don't know what to think now. I know I'm in my bathroom locked behind a door, but it doesn't feel like my bathroom. These aren't my floor tiles under my back. It isn't our bright light shining through my eyelids turning the darkness into a strange orange colour.

I don't want to be here anymore.

"When my eyes were stabbed by a flash of neon light, that split the night, and touched the sound of silence."

Where are these words coming from? I can't remember. It's a man singing it but, I don't know anymore. I think I'm crying, I can feel wetness on my cheeks.

I'm in so much pain and I'm trying to focus on anything but the pain. But I can't it's there and working its way all around my body. I'm shutting down and I'm scared. I want someone to hold me as I lay here dying. It hurts too much and I know I'm dying. I'm going.

In the distance I can still hear thudding and then... nothing.

Silence.

No sound. Just... silence.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: I'm still finding it hard to write at the moment so please forgive me. I tried doing research on the after care of overdosing but the information is very limited. If this is at all wrong I apologise in advance. Anyway, please read and review. Seeing your reviews helps me out a lot!

Sincerely C x

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><p>It doesn't seem real.<p>

Hands push and pull at me, fingertips dance across my skin.

I don't know what's going. I can't hear properly and I daren't open my eyes. I don't even think I can.

I feel my head moving from side to side being manipulated by those around me, and even though my eyes are closed I know that wherever I am it is exceptionally bright.

I can't breathe through my nose and my throat feels raw and scratched, it's uncomfortable bordering on painful and my heart is beating faster. I'm panicking because I'm confused; it feels like I'm being suffocated from the inside out. I want to throw up; my body is retching against my will.

I am in agony, pure pain that they don't show in films. The tormented soul always dies peacefully, but the reality is so far from it.

I haven't slipped away quietly.

Everything is still now and it seems as if years have passed. I am reacquainting myself with the subtle noises in the room, the gentle breaths of someone sitting to my right. A little further down on my right I can hear shuddering breaths and the occasional rustling.

I want to open my eyes and see who it is sitting with me, but my eyelids feel heavy. I feel weak.

But I drift in and out of my dream world – I know I'm dreaming from the way the sun shines a little brighter and the people are a little happier. Santana is with me and my family are all smiling as we walk past them, our hands intertwined. The clouds roll in, dark and ominous as we round another tree and face out across a wide expanse of field, the breeze picks up speed. The vibrant green has ebbed into a dull colour and just in the horizon are two dark silhouettes. I don't have to get closer to know who they are.

"San let's go." I pull on her hand with urgency but she shakes her head.

"San come on, please let's just go."

"You can't" she says. I don't quite know what she means. I tug on her hand harder, but she doesn't move an inch. But when she walks forward I'm helpless. Her grip is like iron around my hand, tight and unforgiving.

"San please, I can't do this. I won't, you can't make me." I plead, I fight, I beg.

We are moments away from them now and there's an overwhelming sense of doom. We draw closer and closer and I feel the breathe escape from my lungs. The panic is all too familiar and I try desperately once more to pull her away, but she doesn't even turn to look at me. I can't even be sure if it's still her guiding me to them. To Sam. To Puck.

I want to cry, but it is impossible here.

"Please don't" my voice is weak and I can't escape. I see Sam's smile, the corner of his mouth curling up and causing dimples on his cheeks. It's wrong. All of this is so wrong. His hand touches my shoulder lightly, then ghosts down to hold my hand.

"It's fine, I'll look after you" he says, I still can't run away. I'm helpless.

Santana let's me go as he pulls me sharply to him.

I open my eyes with a start; the beads of sweat are like dew upon my temples. My forehead feels clammy and it only takes me a moment to adjust to my surroundings. I still feel like I can't speak but Steph is there, her eyes are wide and clear, she looks somewhat startled. I think I can detect some apprehension there but I can't be sure.

"Britt, thank god, mom and dad have literally just left. They'll be back in a minute." Her hand wraps tightly are my own and it dawns on me where I am.

I feel relief.

An overwhelming sense of relief. I want to speak but my throat hurts too much, I feel sore from the inside out. Thankfully I don't have to speak because Steph is filling in the blanks for me.

"... you were still conscious so they decided stomach pumping was the best way forward for you. Santana brought all the bottles and everything with us so they could figure out what to do with you. I was so scared Bri, I thought you were going to die." She pauses and then exhales a breath loudly.

"They kept you in overnight to observe you further. At the moment it seems like you have escaped with no major devastation to your organs." I can detect a hint of anger in her tone now.

"We were all so worried Bri. I knew you were upset but this? Why would you put mom and dad through that?" Steph draws a little closer, her hand tightening around mine a fraction more.

"Santana won't tell me what happened. She said you've got to tell us." I shake my head from side to side. I feel too heavy and lethargic, as if my own body can't support the weight of my head.

"Later" I mutter, all I want to do is sleep.

My eyelids flutter to close but I can't sleep. I hear the door squeak open and the sound of footsteps making their way to my bedside.

In hushed tones I hear Steph speak, telling whoever's in the room how I had woken up for a moment.

My father's deep voice resonates with me, the weariness with which he speaks is grating.

"She can come home, but they said we need to set her up with a therapist. Tell Santana to wait a little while, we just need to be a family at the moment."

I open my right eye slightly and see my mom sitting silently, her hands twisted deeply into her hair. She looks older and wearier since the day before, I feel guilty. I also feel a wave of nausea as I realise that sooner rather than later I would have to own up to my actions and give them the answers that they seek. Namely, why I attempted suicide.

"Mom," I croak out, "Dad?" within moments they are by my side clutching at me anyway that they can.

"We're going to go home soon. You'll get to sleep this off in your own bed." My mom tries to sound cheerful but it's all just a charade. I nod minutely. My dad seems at a loss for words.

For the first time I see what they have gone through. All of those nights when I didn't tell them where I was, and wondering if I would ever come home; all of those times when I would lie awake and fluctuate between throwing things around my room and then stare quietly up at my ceiling. They never knew how to handle it, of course they didn't because they were clueless. All they knew was that I had changed for the worse and they didn't know why.

"I'm sorry." It isn't enough, it never will be enough. I'm in such a dark place, but I have found a slight light, a kindling of hope. I don't have to go through this alone, but I'll be damned if I put them through anymore heartache.

Do I want to tell them? Definitely not.

But will I have to tell them? Absolutely.

There's no choices here. That much has become quite evident.

I want to talk to Santana, I thought she would be here but she isn't and that makes me a little on edge.

"Where's San?" I'm met with furtive glances around the room, occasionally pausing on each other as if they are having a silent conversation. I feel like I'm intruding on something deeply personal.

My dad is the first to talk.

"We sent her home sweet pea. We think it's best if, for the time being we spend some time just together. As a family." I still really want to talk to her, if nothing else but for thanking her for everything.

I can tell by the narrowing of Steph's eyes that she still blames her. But she has no right to.

It's me who has fucked everything up. My family, my friendships, myself. I fucked everything up because I couldn't handle it all.

I don't know where to go from here.

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><p><em>If you have any info. on the aftercare please PM me. Thanks!<em>


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: So I'm back! Sorry for keeping you waiting I've just been extremely busy with my broken arm, dating life and university work. Also, I've been in too good of a mood to write anything deeply harrowing so I'm trying my best.

Fanfiction Recommendation : **A View from the Fire** by **FrogsRcool**

Please read and review!

Sincerely C x

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><p>I'm home.<p>

In fact, I'm home and I haven't moved from in between the crisp, purple cotton sheets in two days.

I don't feel like it and I have very little desire to see what the world is offering me at the moment. Also, I know the longer I feign illness the longer it gives me to try and figure out what to tell my family. I really don't want to tell them and relive the shame again.

I turn my head towards my window and with tired eyes I stare into the sky. It's quite light outside and I wonder what the time is. I've lost all concept of it. The clouds float on high, soft and inviting the golden light looks like it is burning them at the edges. Everything is so still. The gentle sounds of a few remaining birds are creating an almost dream-like state with their little puffs of chirping.

I push the duvet down a little lower, but I make no attempts in standing up, I just don't feel like I have the energy.

"You look tired."

I turn towards the doorway to see Santana standing awkwardly, unsure if I wanted her here. I don't say anything back, instead I just watch her, soaking up details that had long been forgotten. The slope of her neck, the round fullness of her lips that naturally pout and the shining clarity of her eyes, all of these details about her that I didn't actually _see_ for awhile.

"Guess I should've knocked first." She says, giving me a smile which quickly drops. I shrug, still not knowing what to say and motion for her to come closer to me. She takes a moment looking into my eyes and she doesn't even hesitate now as she takes quick steps to my bed and then flings herself down next to me. She must've seen confirmation in my expression rather than my gesture.

"My dad told me that you weren't going to be around for awhile." I blurt it out. Santana sits up a little straighter, her expression solemn.

"Do you want me to go?" She asks, pursing her lips. I can hear the doubt in her voice again as it trembles a little. She's afraid of what the answer might be. I shake my head and rest my hand on top of hers.

"No, I'm glad you're here." She flushes slightly, seemingly embarrassed by my open admission that I need her. I guess she isn't used to it considering the inexhaustible amount of time I had spent trying to push her away.

As quickly as it came, the rosiness of her cheeks is replaced quickly by pallid skin. Her gaze drops to our hands; I am so distracted I almost miss what she says.

"Have you told them?" her voice shakes. I remove my hand from hers to swipe back my hair; I rub my face in frustration.

I drop back further, allowing the mattress to envelop my back; I push my fingertips deeply into my forehead motioning them up and down to relieve the tension. I finally settle on rubbing the heels of my hands into my eyes until they feel like they are on fire.

"No." Just like that, a question about what had happened makes me want to be alone again, isolated from the reality around me. Santana opens her mouth to speak but I cut her off.

"Can we just – not."

"But you've got to tell them Britt. They have a right to know." I look at her incredulously, I feel like she is trying to tell me how to feel and act and I just want to scream. Santana isn't helping, she's just pressuring me more and more and it's as if she can't understand me.

We are caught in this constant game of push and pull, but I'm afraid we'll break completely. I'm afraid the little piece of ourselves that is currently in tact will shatter leaving us alone. If this happens now, she'll be leaving me to navigate my life without even her friendship at my side.

Santana has always been a big part of my life.

"I don't want to argue about it Santana. Can we change the subject please?" The harsh tone in my voice doesn't seem to have her backing down.

"Brittany if you don't te-"

"I don't want to tell them!" I scream. "How about me? How about how I am feeling? If I don't want to go telling them then you can't make me. Stop pressuring me. Ok? Just stop." I look back down into my lap to save myself from seeing her expression.

"You can shout and scream and do whatever you want Britt, but I'm not going to let you push me away again. You need someone to encourage you to do something that – that- I don't know, but listen, I, you – you need to tell them." Her voice is a breathy whisper, light and airy a complete opposite to my own voice – harsh and acidic.

"Just go." My voice is small and weak, so quickly deflated and exhausted by her constant pushing.

I don't need this.

"It was a mistake. All of it was a massive mistake. I wish I had never told anyone. I wish I hadn't told you." I murmur the latter part, but she still hears and flinches as if I had screamed it directly into her ear.

When she still isn't getting up I push myself up from my bed, the mattress dipping beneath my fingertips as I eventually stand and walk slowly away from her. I didn't care that it was my room in my house. I just needed my _space_.

I try to slip out of the front door but my mom intervenes, placing an authoritative hand on my shoulder.

"I'll ask her to leave honey, I just thought she would cheer you up."

"In what way mom do you think a little 30 minute chat would cheer me up? I tried to _kill_ myself. Do you understand? It wasn't a cry for help, but an honest to God attempt on my life." I'm losing it, I can feel my logical mind ebbing away to irrational blame. But, it's like I have no control over my mouth.

"So can you tell me why Santana could make it all better for me after one talk mom?"

"I just thought she would be good company for you." If I were rational now I would be feeling guilt at how weak and frail my mom looks. I know it's because of me.

"Are you fucking taking the piss?" It's like the last thread within me has snapped as I clamp my hand down over my mouth. I was waiting for a tirade of abuse but instead, my mom looked like a wounded puppy that kept being kicked. I felt ashamed of the way I spoke to her; I had never been overtly volatile towards my mom until now.

Santana emerged from the shadows on the stairs, her eyes continually glancing back and forth between me and my mom as if trying to infringe upon our silent conversation.

"I'm just going Mrs Pierce." She bit her lip, I could almost see it, how much she wanted to apologise for not helping. My mom gives her a nod and a strained smile. I knew she must've been desperate to help me if she had asked Santana around; my parents still blame her for my sudden personality change.

The door clicks softly with Santana's absence. I can't bear to look at my mom, I don't want to be faced with what I have done.

"You go back to bed; I'll bring you up some soup." Just like that, our conversation is done.

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><p>I didn't really know how to feel about everything, or what to do and which direction to go. I would spend hours smothering my tears and throaty sobs into my pillow and then break out into maniacal laughter. I would sit there in the darkness of my room becoming resigned to the thought that I would never tell my parents nor leave my bedroom. This would quickly switch up into a resilience to not sitting in one place wallowing.<p>

That thought led to me and Stephanie walking in the crisp winter air right now, a cold sweat breaking out across my brow. I can't remember the last time I went for a walk with someone else, let alone my sister. But here we were an hour and a half into our walk, similar clothes drenched in sweat as we move in silence. The conversation died out about half an hour ago. I wonder what is going on in Steph's life at the moment, the fact that I don't even know if she is dating someone or if she even has a job now makes me feel ashamed.

"Steph?" My voice is timid and shy, snatched away quickly by this winter breeze.

"mmhm?" Her eyes focus on ahead as if some goal needs to be reached before we can head back.

"Are you dating anyone?" I ask weakly. Her quick footsteps falter as she bites back a smile.

"Why?" Her eyes are alert and piercing.

"Because I don't know anything about you anymore and you not answering clearly means yes that there is someone." We've stopped walking altogether now as she studies my face closely. She squints her eyes as if contemplating a serious answer.

"Yes I am. " I pause, hoping she'll continue but instead she pushes me playfully in the shoulder.

"Race you to the tree and back!" She screams, already taking an early lead. I push myself harder and faster to catch up to her, my hand flailing out to the side to push her off of her course. The sound of laughter bubbles around us two as I take over, touch the rough bark of the tree and push off again to race back. By the time Steph gets back I'm hunched over trying to catch my breath, my hands resting heavily on my knees as her sneakers come into view.

"So as I won your race" I gasp out. "You have to tell me who you are dating." I look up from the ground to see Steph worrying her bottom lip. She mumbles the name so quietly I have a hard time hearing.

"Sorry who?" She sighs deeply once more. "Harley... Hernandez." My eyes widen in surprise.

"You mean the girl who works in the Lima Bean?" She nods slightly, the look of fear is back, compared to her earlier childlike behaviour it worries me.

"You know I don't care Steph don't you? After all it's _me_ you're talking to. I just can't believe I missed out on all of this." I have missed out on so much and just now I feel like I'm reclaiming a small part of myself. The fact that I'm interested in anything at all beyond my own loathing shows to me that I'm coming a little further along.

"She's the first girl that I've erm, ever been, you know-"she tilts her hand from side to side in a seesaw gesture, "you _know_, kind of romantically involved with."

"So what you mean is you've gone on a couple of dates and now you're humping like rabbits?" I say it just to make my sister blush. Her entire face turns crimson as her hand flies out to whack me once more on the shoulder.

"We actually haven't done _that_ yet. I don't really know how to – I just, I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."

"Oh god Steph, you're not going to ask me how to have lesbian sex now are you?" Steph flushes even darker now, her hand comes up to swat me playfully around my head but I duck, wheezing out laughter on this sunny afternoon. She is laughing as well and my heart feels lighter and lighter.

But when I actually look at my surroundings I recognise where I am. My laughter stops abruptly as I stare uncomprehendingly at the expanse of trees, I don't cry which I'm grateful that I have the will power to hold it in.

"Britt? Britt are you ok?" Suddenly Steph looks so much older with worry, her whole face scrunches and creases.

"I'm fine Steph, let's go home yeah?" I start off walking and turn back to see she hasn't moved an inch. Her eyes scan the wooded area a thoughtful look spreads across her face as she begins a slow jog to catch up with me.

"Britt no matter what I'm here for you ok?" She wraps me up in a warm embrace; I fight the urge to ruin this moment, but just as I am about to break she lets me go her eyes are mischievous as she runs in front of me and crouches low.

"Piggy back ride?" She asks. I run and jump onto her back my arms wrapping around her neck to secure me to her back.

"Shit B, you're not as light as used to be."

"We'll take it in turns as you're so weak Steph."

My heart is a little lighter and my smile a little brighter. But no matter how much distance is put between myself and those trees my mind wanders back there and when it does I feel myself breaking all over again.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: So I've sorted it out. I've located my "dark mind" and brought you this. We have to get through all of this so that the process can begin. It's not going to be a straight forward road and there will be setbacks. I'm trying to make it as realistic as possible. Thank you for all of the alerts/ favouriting and so on. Also thank you for your reviews (for the whole ff) It really is appreciated.

**Song Recommendations:**

Those you've known – Spring Awakening

It can't rain all the time – Jane Siberry

Hello Earth – Kate Bush

Please read and review I got no reviews for the last chapter and that made me really sad :(

Sincerely C x

**Also**, before I forget I am looking for a beta. I don't really know how to go about it but if you like just pm me. I should be starting up a new ff soon and I've got a pretty good idea of how it will play out. If you are really into doing some research also pm me :) thanks!

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><p>My thoughts keep straying back to those set of trees, which makes the decision to find alcohol and drink myself into a stupor that little easier. My parents tried to lock it all up but still I found a way around and I sit and drink until my throat becomes numb to the previous burning sensation.<p>

The moon is so high up in the sky and I look outward at its luminescent beauty. Just staring at it overwhelms me so I take another pull from the bottle and wonder why I haven't drifted off into a peaceful sleep yet. I'm sitting in my desk chair, my feet pulled up onto the seat causing my knees to crush against my breasts. But I don't feel discomfort.

I want to scream.

I feel the anger rising up and swallowing me whole. It starts building from the inside and pushing itself outwards. I can't control it. I wish I could but I can't.

I feel my nose scrunch up as I take one final deep mouthful of vodka and hold it there hoping to feel _something_. When it becomes apparent that I won't be I store the bottle underneath my bed. I'm a little drowsy, and even though my phone is set to silent I can see it light up on my desk then go dark. Before I can think my fingertips are stretching out, searching for my phone in this blackest of nights, groping blindly to see who would be texting me at this time.

My hand settles on the cool plastic as my thumb makes familiar patterns to unlock it. Santana's name is written boldly across the screen and I close my eyes, sucking in air until it felt like I couldn't breathe.

I click and scan the message quickly for any more pleas for me to tell my parents. Instead I find a seemingly sweet message, asking me if I am ok and if I want to go somewhere tomorrow. I feel the rage bubble slightly, because I'm obviously not ok, so why she is asking me how I am I don't know. I suppress it as best I can as I think of what to say back.

I type three words.

_No and yes. _

The response is immediate.

_Ok, let's go to the roller skating rink? It's always a little quieter there._

I bristle at the suggestion, but then again I can't remember the last time I went out to actually do something, rather than aimlessly wander around.

_Ok, time?_

Just as I hit send I want to take the confirmation back. I'm not totally sure if this is what I want to do.

_8 o'clock I'll pick you up._

Just like that I can't back out now. I'm so scared of something so simple and before all of this I had taken it for granted. I just assumed that I'd be able to carry on naive and being capable of intimacy and friendship. I want to cry over all the things I have lost. All of these parts of me are seemingly beyond my control.

I screw the lid back onto the bottle and rest it on my desk. The scene that lies before me is so heartbreakingly beautiful and I can't help but think. Under the cover of night so many secrets are made, pacts are cemented between people or sometimes arranged with themselves. I feel my face twist as I remember the night that set me on this path. I made a pact with myself, that I would push her away and that I wouldn't talk about my past. I remember dissecting my own actions and thoughts to the point of being compulsive. Now I see. She made me see, she made me remember. Sam made me have a secret, Quinn forced me to share it and now Santana was trying to make me be open about it.

This isn't a part of me I want to explore; it isn't something I think that I can get over. I don't want to tell my parents for fear that they will blame themselves in some abstract way; I don't want them to look at me with pity like Santana does. She thinks she hides it well but I can see it so clearly. In the distance I can see some stand alone trees and then up in the vastness of sky I see a dusting of stars blinking in and out of sight. Those little lights shining offer me a glimpse in the darkness. If I were a romantic I would say Santana is my star, my guiding light in the darkest vestibule of my mind. But right now the mere idea of touching someone sends a shiver of panic up and down my spine. I imagine it being like having the uncomfortable feeling of sliding plump soft fingers along brittle bones.

Some days I want to touch her and reclaim her as my own, I keep thinking to myself if I go through with having sex with her I'll be cured. It would be like a demonstration that I had gotten past it. But how do you? How can someone get past having their most basic right to being touched taken away from them?

I don't think it can ever be removed from your life, I think that's where I went wrong. I sat waiting for myself to just get over it, hoping within that first month I would forget it. I tried so hard, I even tried to initiate touching Santana within those early days but I couldn't. I was still so tender physically and emotionally that I pulled my hand away just as quickly as I had dared to go near her. She didn't understand, she just assumed I was angry at her betrayal.

I guess it's a part of you that you learn to cope with, but not something that you can physically remove from your memory.

I don't know how to cope with these fluctuating emotions. I fool myself into thinking I've forgotten about what happened to me, but it's always there, waiting to resurface at the most inopportune moments. I find it happens mainly at night when I can't sleep and the Earth is resting. People are forming bonds, others breaking them, some are revelling in the silence that night offers and then there's me. I am this insignificant being perched and contemplating and trying to order the goings on around them. I sit and create poetic ramblings that I guess are beautiful in their tragedy. I replay key conversations and wonder if one of those things had changed leading up to that moment when I was assaulted – would it not have happened?

I feel guilty at points because my thoughts venture forth trying to pin blame on someone else. I hate myself for blaming Santana as well as Sam. I feel sickened by it but I can't help but think if we didn't argue, if I didn't walk out in anger I wouldn't have run into them. Sam wouldn't have had the opportunity to take my dignity away and Puck wouldn't have turned away from me.

The lump in my throat is choking, and the clarity with which I remember our argument is haunting. Considering, as the days wear on my memory of the night becomes a little fuzzy, almost like being half awake and half asleep – caught between a nightmare and reality. It distresses me the most that my last strong and clear memory was that of arguing with the girl I loved.

Right now I love her in a different way. I feel like I've kissed goodbye my last thread, linking me to normality. I want Santana to be able to give back those moments from before, the ones where I wore my emotions on my sleeve, rather than sucking tears back in.

She wants so much for me now, I want them too. But the pressure she puts upon me I wish it would just go away. Just go away right now.

But it doesn't, it haunts me like some kind of a spectre and I tug at my hair in frustration. I rub at my eyes, partly out of tiredness partly out of the sluggish feeling the alcohol has given me. I turn away from the silver of the moon and slip underneath my covers. I feel safe here, beneath the warmth and softness of my duvet. I pull it up and over my head, now feeling entirely isolated from the outside world. I try to block out the thoughts of spending a significant amount of time in the outside world, but it's my final worry before my eyes slide shut and I fall into a dreamless sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: So I could be all like "this happened and that happened and then I was abducted by aliens." But, that would just be very lame of me. Instead accept my apologies and please review this chapter. If the narrative seems erratic it is supposed to be. After a traumatic event your emotions are never consistent.

Sincerely C x

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><p>"So what colour do you want?" My sister's voice prods through my haziness. Steph seems to have taken it upon herself to get me ready to go out.<p>

Even if it is just for roller skating.

I gesture vaguely to the two colours of nail polish she is holding up. I'm not really bothered by what colour I wear but rather, I am concerned with why Santana changed our plans from an 8 o'clock pick up to a mid day pick up. I find myself slowly disliking change.

I don't even notice that Steph has started until she reaches the second big toe. She is currently painting my toe nails a deep, rich red colour.

"So how is Harley?" I ask, trying to force back the smile at the momentary look of discomfort on her face. I felt Steph's steady strokes with the nail polish falter, but she doesn't dare glance up. Instead, she pokes her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in an over exaggerated display of concentration.

"She is fine." I pause a moment to allow her to elaborate. It is so quiet I can hear the thick liquid pop every time she reloads the brush. It's clear she isn't going to talk any further.

"So been on any dates recently?" Steph stopped her ministrations altogether, settling the brush back in its pot temporarily.

"Not recently why?" Her tone is cautious, but I shrug my shoulders and wiggle my feet in an attempt to distract her and in part to dry them out.

It doesn't work and instead I'm left with her piercing eyes, unblinking and unmoving and entirely concentrated on me.

"It was just a question Steph calm down." She eyes me a moment longer but then resumes with the nail polish, setting about putting an electric blue bolt through the dried solid red of my nails.

"I am calm." But her hands become unsteady, shaking slightly with a nervousness I can't pinpoint the route of.

"She wants me to go over hers tonight." Steph answers casually, as if it isn't a big deal.

"Oh" slips from my mouth. Now I understand, it's obvious that she is nervous about what will happen tonight and where it might lead to.

I take in a deep breath unsure as to whether it would be ok to speak, but I do it anyway. "No matter what happens, it's supposed to be fun and it doesn't prove one way or another that-"

"Can we stop talking about this please?" She is wound so tightly, I'm not sure what to say. So I say nothing at all and allow her to finish painting my nails. I don't look at her, as I feel I have done something wrong, prodded at some tender spot that I didn't know existed. Until now.

She pulled away the brush admiring her handiwork once more, deciding that it looked ok she screwed the top back on and set it down onto the side table.

"I'm not ashamed you know, I just don't know what to do anymore, about her, about me but mostly about you. I just never seem to say the right things." But I did know; I know she isn't ashamed, she has no reason to be, she just didn't know that she was my biggest source of support and guidance. Steph didn't have to speak all the time to let me know she cared. I just miss the way we were sometimes, how we used to sit and watch crappy TV together and sing songs. We would do such stupid stuff and I guess what I'm saying is that I miss being younger, the simplicity of it all but mostly the innocence.

"It's not about saying the right things sis, it's about being there. You have been there for me when it truly mattered." She sprung over to me and enveloped me in a tight hug; I could feel her smile all the way down into my heart. I wrapped my arms around her just as tight as she was doing to me, but she broke herself away, muttering about what to do to my hair. She dug her fingers in deep, her fingertips pushing their way through my hair in sporadic, jerky motions, messing it up beyond repair.

"You bitch" I wheezed out in between my fits of laughter, she fell onto her back laughing.

"Love you too lil sis!" She pushed herself up right, leaning back on her elbows as she inspected the damage she had inflicted to my hair. "Yeah we definitely need to sort that out before you go anywhere."

She got up and started gathering things together in preparation for dealing with my hair. I looked on, trying to memorise every part of this moment so I could replay it back later. Just like that, I felt a little lighter.

* * *

><p>My stomach churned over and over again, I couldn't tell if it was from nerves or residual from my attempted overdose. As Santana's car drew up to the curb outside I started making my way back through the house and into the study to say goodbye to my mom. She's curled up on the high backed chair the deep red cotton fabric of it is worn on the armrests showing its age. She's reading <em>Night and Day<em> and I don't ever recall seeing it before.

"Mom I'm going now ok?"

She nods still engrossed in her book, obviously still half in reality half in fantasy.

"And mom?" This time she breaks focus completely, staring up at me, her face still withered and worn.

"Can we read in here together when I get back?"

"Yes honey we can." She can't seem to stifle the surprise, and it's no wonder. I've practically been living in my bedroom, trying my hardest to avoid everyone at all costs. But I was going to make it right. Talking to my sister, even about mundane stuff helped me feel normal and less conspicuous. I felt safe and cared for and along the way I forgot how good it felt. I want more of that feeling and I am determined to put myself on track.

"Anyway see you later mom," I lean down and hug her, putting every spoken word, every good feeling into it.

With that I leave and rush out to the front, running full speed to Santana's car, swinging open the door and throwing myself into the passenger seat.

I look over to see a cautious smile twisting Santana's mouth, she's eager to smile, but timid to do so. I beam at her, showing her that I'm ok. I feel so – up. Like nothing could bring me down.

She puts the car in gear and we take off in the direction of the roller rink, I'm laughing so hard tears have formed in my eyes. I'm so happy that I'm happy it makes me even happier. I can't even straighten out my convoluted thoughts.

But this bright feeling is fleeting, because, as quickly as it came it dissipates into an outraged flutter in my chest at just a few words.

"So B, when do you think you'll be back at school?" She says, her eyes squinting against the sun as she watches the road.

"I don't know. " It's true; I don't have a clue when or if I'll be returning.

"How is school?" I ask curiously, Santana shrugs as a way of responding.

In a quieter voice I ask what they've been saying about me. She grinds her teeth down as her hands become fists wrapped around the steering wheel.

"They've said nothing B." I knew she was lying. I could imagine it going all around school, with people who didn't even know me weighing in on the debate of whether or not I was telling the truth about Sam.

"Ok" she seems surprised that I'm not fighting her about it, it makes me feel worse.

"Santana?"

"Yeah B?"

"Why did you say about going to the roller rink when you hate roller skating?" Her smile was soft and disarming.

"Because it used to be your favourite thing to do B." She takes her hand away from the wheel and as soft as feathers lays her hand upon my knee. In a moment of boldness I covered her fingers with my own, comparing every dip of my knuckles with hers and the little fissures and cracks that marbled the back of our hands.

What was once so alike is now so different – it's an odd sense of comfort.

"Thank you" I say, my voice barely above a whisper, my throat is unable to withstand speaking anything louder than that.

* * *

><p>As soon as we arrive we make our way over to the bored teenage girl snapping her chewing gum and thumbing through a magazine. Her expression doesn't change as we tell her our sizes that we need, and as if it were a struggle, stretches as far as she possibly could to retrieve our skates without having to get off of her chair.<p>

We sat down on the floor near the rink pulling on our skates and placing our shoes into a shared locker. Just before we went out to start skating around to cheesy 90's music Santana stopped me. She turned around and, holding out her hand asked me if I was ready. I couldn't help but feel there was a double meaning to her words.

I had forgotten how exhausting roller skating could be, my thighs are burning, my chest feels tight and I'm aching all over. I think I pushed myself too far, especially after putting my body through so much stress the other night. I sat down for a moment and Santana appeared out of nowhere, already unlacing my skates and pulling them gently from my feet. She treats me as if I am fragile, that any wrong movement or wrong words would set me off on a destructive path again.

But she cares for me; she is first and foremost my best friend.

"Thanks" My voice is quiet, sounding strange to my own ears. If Santana hears she doesn't acknowledge it, instead falling quickly onto her backside to remove her own skates.

"How are you feeling?" She says her voice tight and her breathing heavy.

"I'm ok, I just feel like I'm burning all over." She nods.

"Well if you want a rub down I would be happy to help." I don't know what to say, or how to react. I don't know if it's a sign that she still thinks of me in a sexual way, if it is, then I won't be able to cope with it. My heart is speeding up with panic.

"I'm sorry B, it just slipped out I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise I won't say anything like it again." I notice how she steps a little further away from me.

We start walking back to the desk to return the skates and I'm having an internal war. I'm not sure if I should ask or not because I don't know if I want the answer.

"Do you still think of me like that Santana?" She side eyes the girl on the main desk then looks back at me.

"Can we discuss this in my car please?" As she looks back at the bored girl meaningfully.

As soon as we get inside the car I turn to face her, waiting expectantly for Santana to speak. She reluctantly returns my stare.

"In what way are you talking about B?" I can see the hopefulness in her eyes that I'll take it back, that I won't put her in this awkward position. But I need to know.

"Do you still think of me in a romantic way? Like in a sexual way?" I ask it hesitantly as I'm not sure if I want to know now.

"I'm your best friend B, I'm here for you in any way that you want me." She starts up the engine and is driving at speed. The scenery beyond my window is becoming a blur and I was expecting a lengthier discussion about it. But I know what she means. I rest my head against the window, breathing my hot breath against the coolness of the glass, drawing strange shapes and designs in the condensation. I do it to keep myself amused and in part to distract myself from pushing the issue further.

We spend the journey in a tense silence; the things that aren't being said are filling up the space between us and driving us further apart. When she pulls up to my house it's a relief to get out, I walk up the path waving enthusiastically until I get in the door. I throw my keys onto the small coffee table as I round the corner into the living room and find my mom and dad sitting there worried and tense.

I was hoping for a break from all of this. To be able to sit and rest and not worry about anything else.

"Brittany," my father's gruff voice grates out my name, "sit down honey, we need to talk to you."

Nothing good ever came of those words.

Nothing.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

**A/N**: I think this update has arrived more quickly than usual (which isn't exactly tricky) anyway hope you like it. Don't forget to review!

Oh before I forget the song Santana is listening to on repeat is Bad Girls by Blood Orange. Love that song.

Sincerely C x

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><p>"What do you mean you've signed me up for therapy? I refuse to go. I am never going. If you make me go I won't speak to them. It'll be a waste of everyone's time."<p>

I just couldn't go and tell a stranger what had happened for them to sit there, nod thoughtfully and sketch on their notepad rather than giving a damn. I wasn't going to share this part of me any further.

"For crying out loud Brittany stop acting like a little child. Just stop it. This is for your own good. You won't talk to any of us about what is going on with you. You don't sleep properly; you don't eat on a regular basis."

My father rubbed his forehead in frustration then focussed back on me.

"We are worried about you. You can't expect things to carry on in exactly the same way and not receive help."

"I'm not going" I say with less conviction.

"Brittany," my mother's voice is so strained and worn. "You tried to _kill_ yourself; do you really expect us not to do anything and just let you carry on? I'm not-" Her words shake, "-I'm not going to watch you suffer anymore."

It's strange, but it feels like it was another time in another life, not a few days ago in this very house that I tried to do it. It felt like another me. I guess I can't explain it very well.

"I wouldn't do it again." I can feel the tears burning behind my eyes, begging to allow them to spill over. I might not be happy, but I can fix it myself. I don't need a stranger to get inside of my messed up head.

"Brittany, honey, please. You need this. You may not realise it just yet, but you do." The movement is subtle, but my mother's small hand slips across the space and grasps tightly onto my father's hand. A sign of their solidarity.

"I'm not going and that's it." I know they're not going to budge, but neither am I. I storm out, hearing my father's commanding voice echoing my name again and again until it doesn't even sound like my name anymore. My feet carry me away; I can feel myself caving back in. I want to be destructive and petulant. They clearly think I'm sick and that I can't control myself. But I can regulate my moods – I felt like I was getting better for a moment.

I was laughing.

I was flying high.

But then I crashed out, I hit a low point again. I didn't want to do this again. I don't want to be me, but I can change that. I can do it by myself.

I find myself at the end of the street, coming to an abrupt halt on the corner. Do I go left to Quinn's or right to Santana's?

I squint in both directions wondering where I want to go. I see movement out of my periphery and I freeze up. They lay a gentle hand, warm and coaxing on my shoulder.

"Bri? Mom and dad sent me. Are you ok?" My sister's voice is slow and steady and yet still managed to sound insecure.

"Bri?"

All I have to do is turn to look at her. Her eyes, wide and curious staring right at me with a pensive expression. It's seeing Steph that makes me burst into tears. I cry as I pull her into me, weeping like a little kid on her shoulder. It reminded me of when I was little and I had no shame in crying over a scraped knee. She would press a kiss to her finger and press it against the cut then she would blow gently over the top of my scrape. _There,_ she would say,_ it's gonna heal just fine lil sis._ It always did.

But my crying reminded me of moments like that and I wish it could be healed in the same way but it can't. She just rubs my back, whispering soothing words as if they were a balm. She's bringing out the little kid in me. Scared and afraid and cracking open slowly, piece by piece.

"Lil sis what's wrong? What happened?"

I clench my eyes shut even harder than before to the point where my eyes are aching. I suck my bottom lip in as I struggle desperately to stem the flow of tears escaping from beneath my eyelashes. I'm just weeping now for everything. The emotions stirred within me were unexpected and terrifying. A wall of emotions solid and different all hitting me at once is so hard to keep penned up inside.

"Mom and dad. They" I take this moment to expel a small amount of air and then suck in a heap of oxygen to try and calm myself down. But I can still feel the muscles in my chest twitch and heave sporadically, causing my words to come out in short bursts. "They want me to go to a therapist. They told me – they told me I had to go to it. But I'm not going Steph. I'm not. I don't want to."

"Ok sis. Shh shh it's going to work out. But listen to me-" she moves away slightly looking down at me. "-humour them. Try it out for awhile and if it doesn't work for you then at least you've tried."

I want to bite back. I want to shout. But I don't, I just nod my head so slightly I wonder if she can see it.

"They think I'm wrong don't they? They think I need to be fixed." My voice is small and barely recognizable.

"We don't. Sometimes we have these moments where we aren't ourselves. Where we can't control certain things, or know how to cope with things that other people seemingly breeze on through. It doesn't make you less of a person lil sis. It just means you need a nudge every now and again."

There's a slight pause before she adds wryly.

"Plus it doesn't hurt to have an awesome sister to help you figure it out."

I laugh but still feel the tears streaming down my face. For the first time in a long while I feel like I'm reconnecting with my sister again. For too long we have lived alongside each other but somehow became total strangers.

The light from the day is becoming duller, preparing itself to give way to the night and Steph stands with me until I can breathe again.

"Come on Bri. Let's go home." She says it with such warmth, urging me to step back the way I came with a slight pressure on my shoulders, but I shake my head adamantly.

"Well where do you want to go?"

"I think I'm going to go see Santana for awhile." I expect to see a scowl, or at least a protest of some sort. But she shrugs nonchalantly.

"Is it ok if I walk you there? When you want to come back call me and I'll pick you up if you like?"

I say ok and we walk. We walk for so long before I realise the time.

"Steph aren't you meant to be on a date right now?" I halt my steps. I couldn't believe we had both forgotten.

"Not for another hour Bri, don't sweat it. Seriously call me about being picked up though. She won't mind and plus I can go back to hers after anyway."

I scrunch up my face. "Ew, over share Steph. I don't need to know where you're going to be doing the deed." She laughs lightly pushing me playfully in the shoulder – such a stark contrast to how she reacted earlier but I don't question it.

"Hey Steph?"

"Hm?" she hums out whilst kicking some gravel along the sidewalk.

"Thanks. For everything. Like, just thank you." She smiles her secret smile and whispers a no problem. We're only a couple of minutes away now. I can see her house at least.

"I'll catch you later," I say as I embrace her tightly. With that I take off for Santana's front door, hoping that she will be in.

I knock three times before I hear some movement from behind the door.

The door opens to reveal Santana's mom tying her coat that little bit tighter.

"Hello sweetie, come in Santana's in her room. Can you let Santana know that I've gone out please?" I nod hoping to appear calm and collected. "Now you two behave yourselves and remember if you two cook anything-"

"- to clean it up right away. Got it Mrs Lopez." She smiles once more and then disappears out of the front door closing it gently behind her.

Now that it was absolutely silent I could hear a soothing and steady beat drifting lazily from up stairs. I strained my ears to try and hear the words but they were muffled and unclear. When I reached her room I pressed my ear and hands right up against the door, causing it to fall open a little bit. I peek in and see her. She looks so serene her eyes clenching shut every now again as she leans over her drawers to swipe it with a feather duster, whilst she alternates between humming notes and singing words. The room is washed in some strange orange glow, but I can't be sure of it's source.

Her voice is low and sensual, wrapping the words up with some hidden meaning – an entirely different emotion that to me hints at some kind of longing. She gives up cleaning entirely to scrunch her eyes closed so tightly that it looks as if she is in pain. She drops the duster to the floor and begins rhythmically hitting her had against her upper thigh.

"And still I try to lure you into my own hurricane" I can see she is so incredibly caught up in this song; she is giving it her all.

When the door falls open a little bit more the sound causes her eyes to spring open and latch onto mine. There's a briefest moment before she is moving over to her speakers to quieten them. I was so focussed before on her singing that I didn't even acknowledge the lack of clothes she is wearing. Her grey cotton shorts, so short that they stop just at the very top of her thighs, the McKinley High symbol just barely fitting onto the front of them, is coupled with a deep midnight blue bra.

She blushes as she fumbles around for a t-shirt, finding a dulled yellow tee she pulls it over her head quickly. Her blush becomes more pronounced as I don't take my eyes away from her.

"So what's up B? Did you need something?"

"I want to talk about earlier, about your comment and stuff." I didn't think it possible, but she turns a deep scarlet colour.

"I thought we did talk about it." I walk slowly towards her, as she mumbles out incoherent words.

"Santana – do you still want me, yes or no?" Her eyes are darting everywhere except directly at me. I'm so close to her. I lean forwards bringing my mouth so closely to her ear that I can almost hear the speed of her heart beating.

"Do you want to kiss me?" She swallows but doesn't answer; the air between us is heavy and thick. This wasn't what I wanted to say to her at all. I wanted to discuss my parents and their forcing of therapy upon me, I wanted to get her point of view on it.

Instead I'm somehow instigating this game of cat and mouse, I don't feel like me.

"Do you Santana?" She finally looks up at me and nods once, if I hadn't have been paying attention I wouldn't have seen it.

I press my body closer to her, I wonder if I'm ready to be close to her, but I won't know until I try. I lean forwards, but she steps back. I reach for her waist just as she steps back again. We had both moved across the room so much that we were now at her bed. Or I should say falling onto it.

I roll from on top of her to the side, misjudging the amount of space available and promptly land arse first onto the floor. She's leaning over the side, the terror from within her eyes had subsided into sparkling amusement. She offers me her hand and I take it and lay myself back by her side. I twine our fingers together, her left combining with my right, I begin to run my thumb gently across her wrist and trail up to the top of her thumb. The smile she gives warms me from the inside out.

We hold our interlocked hands high into the air triumphantly.

"Santana?" She's staring at the way the orange light plays upon our skin.

"Were you afraid of me just then?" Because she was acting as if she were afraid.

"No, I just didn't know if you were doing it just to give me what you think I want." I had to go over her words a few times in my mind because the sentence was lengthy and the words convoluted.

"It wasn't that at all. I just, I want to see if I'm ready to at least kiss you. I don't know what I can and can't handle yet. But can you be patient for me?"

"I can B. I won't let you down." After awhile of twisting our combined hands this way and that way, we bring them to rest between us on the bed.

"Can we try now Santana?" I feel so small and so young, I hadn't asked to be kissed since I was 13.

Even so, she let's go of my hand and moves herself closer to me. My heart is picking up its pace as I feel an indescribable heat coming from the closeness of her body. This all feels like new – like it's my first kiss all over again. I feel sick with excitement. With shaking hands she moves my hair back from my face, her fingers inching slowly through my hair. The gentle tugs as she works through the small tangles in my hair feel soothing and rhythmic. Everything feels so soft and warm, the bed beneath us, the orange lighting, her feathery light touches. Her eyes. Just her.

The palms of my hands feel sweaty as I use my left arm to curl beneath my head and my right hand to rest lightly upon her waist. I'm shaking too.

"Are you sure?" Her mouth looks inviting as her lips wrap around the breathy, whispered question. I lean forward closing my eyes, sinking into this feeling of security and being cared for. Within moments I feel her mouth pressed to mine alternating between light and sweet pressure to firm and wanting. Her hand slips to the back of my neck and I feel the touch all the way down my spine into my toes.

It feels good to be close again, to feel how much I'm desired and yet still be safe. She begins to press quicker kisses to my lips, her eagerness extremely apparent. My breathing is becoming shallower as I sink deeper still, the soft music, the room in general has fallen away. All that there is right now is me and Santana. My heart races in time with hers.

Before I know it I'm on my back with her straddling me, placing small hungry kisses along my jaw. My eyes open and all I see is trees, a night sky with a handful of stars. I try to suppress the sudden terror that has taken over me but I can't, it's like I'm back there again. Fragments of that night come back so vividly. I want to cry. I can't stop them, the thoughts come back and the panic rises up.

"Get off!" I scream, expelling all the air in my lungs. Santana snaps back and rolls off onto the bed beside me.

"B what's wrong? Are you ok? I didn't mean to... I'm sorry I just." But those words float along in the background barely reaching me at all. I'm trying to calm down, I'm gasping for air, I'm trying to tell myself this is Santana not Sam, not Puck but just Santana.

I feel the bed shift as I curl into the foetal position against her headboard. My face is buried in my knees, taking steadying breaths. But I know she is still trying to judge the best way to comfort me. I hold out my arm, the palm of my hand flat and facing where I think she is.

"Don't come any closer. Just give me a minute" my voice sounds thick with tears and my eyes are heavy for wanting to cry.

I cry for the lost moment, for scaring Santana, but most of all for myself.

I'm so frustrated. I'm just so fucking angry.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters.**

Dear Reader,

Yes I'm talking to you. Thanks for sticking with this. Short update as numerous anons have pointed out I haven't updated in ages. I didn't want to post this A/N as it's own chapter but just so you know work has been too much. In my job I'm always on the go and now it's requiring me to bring work home with me as well as doing my university degree work. It's due to this lack of time that someone super important to me has left me - basically I got dumped. So yeah, been feeling crap. Please accept my apologies and if you like leave a review.

Sincerely C x

* * *

><p>I'm not sure how much time has passed. But in that time I worked up the courage to curl into her side, shortly after she wrapped me up in her arms and pressed cherry sweet kisses to the top of my head. I eventually became calm because of her.<p>

"I want to try again" I whispered into her shoulder. She shrugged causing me to look up and see her shaking her head no.

"Santana please, just don't top me ok?" She scooted a little further away from me - her eyes wary.

"B we can't, not today. Come on" she said softly, "look at what happened. Let's just talk for awhile." I closed the gap between us, folding my arms around her waist feeling the soft curve of her breast as my pillow.

"What do you want to talk about?" I asked. My thumbs working slow circles across the protruding bones of her bowed back.

"Well," I could feel her shyness, "I wrote something today. Nothing major just something for fun." The thing about Santana is that she would write a lot, short anecdotes, lengthy love poems – she would write it all. But then when things became bad between us her inspiration wandered away too.

"Can I read it sometime?" I felt like cringing – it felt like some 90's cliché romcom line.

"Sure you can. Just – not now." It was quiet for a beat and then "so B any news?" The question didn't throw me I knew I wasn't going to lie.

"I'm going to start therapy soon." Santana's body stiffened; her touch slightly firmer, before she relaxed back into everything.

"Is it something you're happy with?"

"No"

"Then you won't benefit from it B. You've got to want to do it and work at it." I knew she was right; I just didn't want to delve deeply into it. I kept repeating Steph's mantra of just humouring them.

I glanced at the time and realised it was already late.

"I'm just going to call Steph and ask her to pick me up." I offered as a way of explanation – I don't want to seem rude. Santana paled slightly, obviously still fearful of my sister. I felt so bad for her.

I smiled at her – "she doesn't bite you know."

* * *

><p>By the time Steph arrives at Santana's house we have watched four rerun episodes of As Told By Ginger. We are snuggled beneath the duvet, our feet occasionally bumping into each other. The action is familiar and yet strange at the same time. It's like I'm reacquainting myself with her again and I wonder if this time around we will be closer than before.<p>

"Does Rachel ever remind you of Dodie?" I can't help but snort; it's as if Rachel based her entire personality off of that fictional character.

"Yeah she does actually. Ok quick game – who would be Ginger, Maci, Darren, Miranda and Courtney?"

Santana half smiled. "Sam as Darren, Sugar – Courtney obviously. I would be Miranda, Tina as Maci no idea who would be Ginger."

"I don't think you would be Miranda Santana. You've changed way too much to be that character anymore. I guess we would have to come up with a new character for you; and I always wanted to be Ginger" I feel my face flush. I sound like I'm a 12 year old not a senior. "It's just because she always seemed level headed. I was so upset for awhile after because I didn't have ginger wavy hair." She smiles a big beaming smile as she tucks me into her side. For a fleeting moment I feel protected, but then my anxiety kicks in. It's like a slow burn and as if reading my mind Steph begins to ring my phone. I hug Santana before pulling back the duvet, sliding my feet into my shoes and I rush from the house into the waiting car. Slamming the door behind me I plaster on a warm smile and look to my sister. But she avoids eye contact. She slips that car into gear and pulls away from the sidewalk.

"So how was your date?" I ask teasingly hoping it will break the silence. It doesn't. In a low tone she says it wasn't a date. I furrow my brow in confusion, trying desperately to recall our past conversations about this.

The atmosphere is tense. "You're hiding from me Steph. What is it your hiding." I risk looking to my left and she's staring uncomprehendingly at nothing.

"It's a talk for home Bri." With that she stops at the lights, she looks as if she wants to speed right through them.

"No come on. You're scaring me Steph. Talk to me."

She continues to stare out of the windscreen, exhaling a breath that fogs the glass slightly. I didn't realise it was this cold in the car.

"Fine" she says rolling her tongue about her teeth, as her lips part to speak she makes a clicking sound. To me she seems incredibly aggressive.

"I thought I could do it, carry on like this. But I can't ignore what she has done." I have absolutely no idea what she is talking about. But something tells me not to interrupt. Something tells me she's working up to it.

"I've tried to look past the fact that Santana cheated on you with her. But as she was trying to seduce me or whatever the hell you want to call it, I couldn't help but think she ruined my little sister and fooled around with her girlfriend. I hate myself for it. I mean, I found out like two days ago but it's still two days too long. I should've ended it there. But I didn't."

I don't think I could ever adequately describe my shock. Santana never mentioned a name or anything really about the girl. She was just some nameless girl, popping up out of nowhere to make out with my girlfriend only to disappear back into the undergrowth. I felt a little sick that I had secretly been hoping my sister would get together with her. She seemed happier when she was with Harley.

"I'm so sorry Steph." I could see she was looking at me out of the corner of her eye, a wry smile twisting up the half of her face that I could see.

"I have no idea why you're apologising; really this is all Santana's fault. You're clinically depressed because of what she and Harley did. I don't know why I held onto her for so long." She spun the steering wheel, swooping onto the driveway at speed and then coming to an abrupt halt.

My heart had begun picking up its pace. I think it's because of how wrong that sentence sounded. In some small way I blame them as irrational as they might sound. But at the same time it was Sam who did it and Puck who helped. As Steph began to move I settled my hand upon her wrist.

"Steph, it's not really their fault I'm upset." I didn't like the off handed way she said clinically depressed.

"But it is, Santana cheated on you she-"

"Santana may have cheated on me, but it was Sam. He – fuck this never gets easier" I rub my forehead with my fingertips feeling that all too familiar tension rising up. "Sam raped me that night."

It became deathly silent in the car it was only broken when Steph whispered ok.

"Steph?"

"I said ok." She had a fury there ignited within her eyes and I didn't know what to do.

"Can you not tell mom and dad." I sounded weak and small.

"Why not? Why wouldn't you want them to know?" The way she moved commanded at the very least eye contact.

"Because," tears worked their way up into my eyes, hot and tired. I was so tired of crying about this.

"Because I don't want them to be ashamed of me. I was drunk Steph, wandering down the road, I was wearing stuff that maybe I shouldn't be wearing." My voice was shaky as I waited for her judgement of me. Her disgust.

"Stop Bri. You shouldn't be talking like that. It doesn't matter what you wear or where you walk, you are not in the wrong. You are the victim." She said with conviction. "It was his fault not yours. He is in the wrong; it is him who took advantage. You know mom and dad would never be ashamed of you. This isn't your fault Bri – please believe that."

I felt raw and exposed again.

"Does he go to McKinley High too?" I nodded reluctantly and her jaw was set. She was gritting her teeth in determination.

"You're not going to do anything are you?"

"Let's go inside." She threw open the car door and stepped outside.

"Steph? Answer me. You won't go near him will you?"

"We best step inside," she said clearly ignoring everything I was saying. "It's too cold out here."

With that she disappeared inside, leaving me outside to follow her.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, I do however own this story, I'm just borrowing the characters. **

**A/N:** Long time since I've written. Sorry for that! Should you want to please read and review. It means a lot to me. Thank you for your patience.

* * *

><p>Steph didn't answer my questions. She seemed to withdraw into herself completely, instead settling upon silence and attempting to stay awake for a back to back marathon of Lord of the Rings. I joined her. I sat waiting for her to talk to me – to reassure me that she wouldn't act upon our conversation, but she didn't. The morning after, I had woken up to my sister stroking my hair and humming a tune and just as I pried one eye open she hushed me back to sleep singing Tale as Old as Time. It reminded me of when we were little, sharing bunk beds where I would choose a song and she would sing it to me just before going to sleep. She would always smile but insist on reading a few pages of Take Thats biography out loud to me first. She always knew how to comfort me but that night it was as if she didn't know me at all. I don't know – maybe I expected too much. As far as I was aware my parents still didn't have any idea, Steph didn't tell.<p>

But it was confirmed a few days later that my parents didn't know as I doubt they would willingly put me back into school if they knew that he was lurking there. My parents broached the subject of school quite bluntly and told me how I should be returning soon on the condition that I felt well enough of course. I had to stop myself from making a pithy retort of how I hadn't been well for awhile now. But then again it wouldn't be fair of me.

I was having a shit day and nothing seemed to trigger it. I woke up as usual, went downstairs, ate breakfast, went upstairs, brushed my teeth, showered and got dressed. Same routine and yet today I couldn't cope. I clenched my hands so tightly into my hair that I could feel my fingernails biting into my scalp, it reminded me that I still have fight in me. I still have another setting other than depressed, as fucked up as it might be.

I'm lying on my bed, fully clothed my hands cupping over my eyes just so that I could block out my bedroom for a moment and it's abundance of colours. My breaths were slowing down, I could hear myself inhaling and exhaling rather than feeling the movements – it was usually a sign that I was separating myself out again, compartmentalizing things that maybe I should let rush at me all at once. I could hear beyond myself a low hum of some electrical appliance still whirring, still _functioning_ somewhere in my room. It's constant, steady sound began to grate at the back of my mind like an itch I was incapable of scratching. It sent a shiver of rage up my back. Another sound interrupted my silence, my phone playing a generic melody over and over to the point where I couldn't bear to listen a moment longer. I snatched it up from the folds of my duvet and without looking at the caller shouted what? My tone was sharp and it felt good to verbalise some of my frustration.

"It's me – Quinn. I just wanted to call you. You haven't been in school and I wondered if it... I wondered if everything was ok." I bit down hard on my tongue to prevent myself from pointing out how redundant it is to ask how I am and also why I wasn't in school. She could use her imagination surely.

I dragged my tongue across my teeth, feeling every taste bud as I did so. I had to get a handle on myself quickly.

"Yeah I'm fine. Just sorting some stuff out, straightening myself up and yeah. How are you Quinn?" This conversation was forced and awkward and I wanted to hang up as soon as I would be able to.

"I'm good, just stuck on this math homework but I'm sure I'll figure it out. Mr Welch has been really pushing us all. The other week"

"Quinn just stop. Do you really think I care right now what Mr Welch is doing and saying?" It was quiet briefly until Quinn's voice reverberated through the phone, all politeness having left.

"Fine ok Brittany have it your way. I was calling you because I thought it might make a difference hearing and speaking to someone other than Santana. But let's be honest you've always been that way – totally reliant on Santana and no one else." Her words were cutting and sour, but no less true.

"So what Quinn? It wasn't hurting anyone. If that is how I choose to live my life then that's my choice – nobody else's!" My grip is tight around the phone.

"No you're completely right Brittany that is your choice. But when you come back to school and eventually you will have to, you're going to need all the friends you can get."

I refused to let her hear the panic in my voice.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Just people still aren't sure who to believe Brittany. I believe you but others aren't quite so convinced. I mean to look at him you wouldn't suspect he would do anything like that."

It was everything that I had been fearful of, but I had pushed it to one side to focus on other problems, how to keep Santana happy, how to keep my parents happy and what therapy was going to be like.

"But why would I lie? What could I have to gain from lying about it?" Quinn's voice was gentler this time but wary.

"Are you sure you want to hear the rumours that have been circulating?"

"Go on. I need to hear it Quinn." I heard her sigh loudly.

"They have been saying that you had sex with Sam willingly, but when you saw that you had lost Santana to Puck that you came up with your... your story to get sympathy and interest back from Santana. I am so sorry Britt. Not everyone believes that though."

I change the topic on purpose; I don't want to talk anymore about it. I wondered if Santana knew about this.

"Quinn," I say before I hang up, "I think I'll be coming in tomorrow could you wait at the gate for me? Bring anyone who is supportive. I'm going to need it."

"Definitely Britt. I'll be there. See you at 8 ok?"

With that I hung up, cradling my phone in my hand wondering if I should call Santana. I'll just walk there. I couldn't believe that within 15 minutes my problems just got bigger and I know that when I walk into school it's going to be one of the toughest moments of my life. But I'm going to make it. I'm going to be there whether other's liked it or not.

I put on my hoody as it is drizzling and make my way to my door. I swing it open to reveal Steph hovering, twisting her fingers together.

"Where you going Bri?" I'm surprised that she is talking to me as she has barely said hello these past few days. I brush past her on my way down the stairs hoping that she wouldn't follow. But of course she followed; she was never going to let me leave through that front door alone.

"Bri come on let's talk. I just want to know where you're going."

"Santana's" it was foolish of me to think she would turn back around. She was striding alongside me and I was struck by how different this was from the other day where I felt slightly lighter. I guess I just need to cope with down days better.

I buried my hands deeply into the front pockets of my hoody and watched my feet walk quickly along the sidewalk. When we reached Santana's house, Steph stood at the bottom of the path watching me as I walked up to the front door.

"Don't forget to call me" she shouted, "I'll pick you up whenever you're done here." I nodded reluctantly and knocked. A few moments later Santana appeared at the doorway looking tired and confused. Her hair was mussed and she was squinting her eyes at me, propping herself up using the doorframe.

"B I wasn't expecting you are you ok?" I smiled at her, hoping that it seemed genuine and stepped through the doorway.

As soon as I was inside and the door was safely closed, I spun around to face Santana – at the same time discarding and throwing my hoody somewhere.

"Are your parents at home?" I asked eagerly, my mouth twitching into a smirk.

"Erm no they aren't." She brushed her fingers through her hair nervously; it was strange to see her look so awkward in her own home.

I grabbed at her right hand and pulled her up the stairs behind me, forcing her to jog slightly to keep up. As soon as I made inside her room, I slammed the door shut and pressed her back against it. My hips and hands had her pinned as I dipped my mouth lower so that I could kiss her. I didn't start off lightly. I was harsh and wanting, teeth nicking at lips and such tender parts of our body so severely pressed that I knew later on they would look bruised. It was then that I felt her push back against me.

I broke the kiss, my jaw aching slightly from what we had just been doing – I felt relief.

"B come on" she whispered, "let go of me now." I looked directly into her eyes seeing the lust from a few moments ago ebbing away to reality. I stepped back giving her enough room to move away from the door. Taking my hand softly she guided me to her bed and sat me down.

"So what was all that about B?" She asked looking at me with genuine curiosity. I knew what it was but I didn't want to tell her, so I shrugged. She frowned at me but covered it with a smile.

"Ok we don't have to talk about it now but after we have watched a film you will tell me then?" I shrugged again, trying to be as non-committal as possible.

"Brittany" she said her voice low and warning.

"Fine" and for the first time in awhile I feel myself pout. Santana's mouth as red and swollen as it was still quirked up with amusement.

"Good, now you get to choose what we watch." I thought for a moment and got up reaching for Sweet Valley High. When she saw what I chose her eyes widened and right then and there she began constructing a divide down the bed out of pillows.

I had to stop myself from laughing from her frantically creating this barricade – she obviously remembers what happened every time we put it on; which my exact intention was.

I settled myself on the bed, looking over the barrier at her every now and again. However, realising nothing else would be happening I made myself comfortable and began to actually watch for the first time the first episode of Sweet Valley High.

And do you know what I found out? That Sweet Valley High is ridiculously cheesy.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Hey so this hasn't been abandoned. I've just been figuring out what to do with this story. So, I've decided to re-do it a little bit because I'm not happy with the way it turned out so I have redone chapter one. Be prepared for some drastic changes in the remaining chapters. Also, I've changed the title of this ff.

Don't hate me all at once!


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